Monthly Archives: March 2009

Still here

Whew – sorry for leaving that depressing blog post up for so long. I have to say, you guys leave some damn good comments. Most of the ones to the last post made me cry, sure, but they were tears of being understood and supported, you know? I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole feeding issue and hierarchies of motherhood in general, and there’s a blog post on that a-coming, but probably not for a bit. (I feel a little odd asking Mr. Squab to go on double kid duty so I can blog.) We’re getting into a workable rhythm with the newly expanded family, so now if we can just win the lottery so Mr. Squab doesn’t have to go back to work everything will be fine! Y’all let me know if you have any tips for that. Mr. Squab goes back to work on Monday; I have various relatives in town until April 8th to help make the transition, for which I am BEYOND grateful, but ooooooh I still wish we lived in a world where Mr. Squab got three months of paternity leave. Or, like, a year of paternity leave. Or that winning lottery thing. Do you think he could get transferred to France or some Scandinavian country before Monday?

Kids = Stress, Parenting = Anxiety

OK. So, we’re back home and starting the process of getting used to being a family of four. The good stuff: I totally missed the Hatchling (and the feeling was definitely mutual) so it’s been good to be back at home and get some snuggle time with my first baby. Baby 2.0 – let’s call her Sprout, shall we? – is (so far) an extremely mellow baby, sleeping like a champ, only cries when she’s hungry or needs her diaper changed, and is generally a very sweet little girl. The weather is getting warmer, we have lovely friends and relatives bringing us food and helping us out – I mean, objectively speaking, things are going pretty well.

So why do I feel like such a basket case? OK, some of it is post-partum hormones. Seriously, I could weep at the drop of a hat these days. It’s annoying. And some of it is cumulative lack of sleep and the whole recovering from major surgery thing. But also, Sprout is having some eating problems and it’s kind of making me want to stab my eyes out with a fork. Those of you who’ve been reading this blog since the early days will remember that the Hatchling had myriad problems on the nursing front, starting with being tongue tied and compounded by my low milk-supply and other fun. We had to supplement her with formula from the get-go and never managed to get her completely on the breast, though we did get into a decent groove with it and I nursed her until she was 14 months old. I had a lot of friends who had similar difficulties getting started with breastfeeding, and many of them had it much easier the second time around – copious milk supply, easy nursing, etc. And I had convinced myself that I’d be the same – you know, I put in my time in with the first one, this one would be easy sailing!

I should have known better. Now, Sprout isn’t tongue-tied, and she knows how to nurse. But she is also an extremely big baby, and my supply is not keeping pace with her dietary needs. So we’re supplementing again, which feels like failure. Sometimes she gets so mad that the milk isn’t coming out fast enough that she won’t even nurse. When I had to resort to putting droppers full of formula on my boobs while nursing so she’d keep sucking – something we had to do with the Hatchling – it REALLY felt like failure. Sprout had her first doctor’s appointment today, and she’s not gained any weight, so the doctor says we need to supplement even more, which at this point I’d be happy to do, only for the last day and a half she’s been so sleepy it’s hard to get her to eat anything at ALL. At a rational level (not a place I’m having an easy time getting to today) I know that this is something that we’ll work out, we’ll get past it, if I can’t nurse her it’s not the end of the world, etc., etc. But it’s driving me nuts. I’m not enjoying the really excellent baby she is because I’m feeling so bad about not being able to feed her. (Also feeling bad about: the upheaval to the Hatchling’s life; being a basket case all the time; not drinking enough water – yeah, we’ve hit absurd levels.) I HATE that I feel like a failure for the nursing not coming easily. I hate how much it will bother me if I end up not being able to nurse Sprout. I hate that I’m feeling so anxious when I really thought that the anxiety would be better this time around – when it SHOULD be better this time around. I hate that I’m already projecting that things will always suck when chances are that next week or even tomorrow I’ll probably feel much better. Argh. I also hate that I can’t write a more engaging damn blog post. OK. Sorry for the venting. Here are the positive things I’m trying to focus on when I feel fail-ey:

1. Look, she’s really damn cute, OK? I mean, she is a Very. Cute. Baby.
2. Having had feeding problems before, we’re at least prepared with all the techniques, so I have some idea what to do in response.
3. The Hatchling is being a total trouper even though all this is clearly stressing her out.
4. Mr. Squab continues to be a tower of strength.
5. This baby actually sleeps in the car, something the Hatchling never quite grasped.
6. My mother-in-law is here, cooking and taking care of us, and she brought a huge batch of my favorite molasses cookies with her, one of which I am going to go eat.

Just … remind me to focus on this list, ok?

Robinson 2.0

Elise and I are happy to announce Sylvia Charlotte Robinson to the world. She was born on Saturday March 14 at 9:36am, coming in at a whopping 10 lbs 5oz and 21 inches long. Mom and baby are doing very well, Ellie and I are doing our best to keep up. Posting will be light until Squab gets back up to speed.

Right. A little early, then.

OK, so these are definitely contractions. Finally called the docs at around 5:30am and they said to come in. Looks like this little one wants to get here a couple of days early. OF COURSE. On-call sister is on her way over to the house and as soon as she gets here we’re heading to the hospital. We’ll keep you posted (if you’re on facebook, check there for more prompt updates).

The Final Countdown: T minus 2 days

1. The headcold rages unabated. In retrospect, purchasing stock in Kleenex about three months ago would have been a good move.

2. To be honest, if anyone said the phrase “the power of positive thinking” to me right now I would probably kick them in the nards, but there *are* some things making me happy right now, namely:
a) my new spring purse, courtesy Questionable. (The one on the left.) It is so springy and stripy. It defies the weather.
b) It’s supposed to be almost SIXTY degrees on Monday! Sure, I’ll be drugged up and in the hospital the whole day, but still!
c) Tonight, the Hatchling, after commanding her father to sit next to her on the sofa, sidled up to him, batted her eyelashes and said “Hey, baby.”

3. I think I might be having the occasional contraction, mostly in the evenings the last three days. I say “I think” because I don’t actually know what normal contractions or Braxton Hicks feel like. When the Hatchling was born, I had nothing in the way of contractions until I was induced, and lemme tell ya, Pitocin-contractions are undeniable. You KNOW you are having one of those. And then you KNOW you are getting an epidural. But this – it just feels kind of like a tightening, sometimes verging on crampy, not lasting or regular, just sort of unsettling and a pain in the ass. Or thereabouts. Thoughts from readers who’ve done this the natural way before? I go in for a regular monitoring appointment tomorrow so I’m sure they’ll pick up on it if anything is going on.

Final Countdown: T minus 3+ days

Under normal circumstances, I think I’m a fairly patient, even easygoing, person. However, as has been extremely well-documented on this blog, normal circumstances do not include the late stages of the third trimester. Which is why if I ever chance to meet Fate in a dark alley, that motherfucking bastard had better WATCH HIS STEP, because giving me a full-blown head cold this morning? NOT. COOL.

Final Countdown: T minus 5 days

Daily Index:

WatchingAmerican Idol. Because my brain is just that fried.
Eating – What have you got? No, seriously. WHAT HAVE YOU GOT.
Reading Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo. Because my brain isn’t that fried. Although I can only manage about 10 pages before I fall asleep.
Wearing – only stretchy jersey-type fabrics. In XXL. Don’t judge.
Hearing – the harmonious sounds of my almost-three-year-old daughter making up nonsense songs, repeatedly requesting to play with my iPhone or watch a “bideo” on the computer, and running/dancing around the living room with just her diaper on.
Cursing – the fucking SNOWSTORM currently raging outside my windows. Also the fact that the high tomorrow is supposed to be, like, 5 degrees. At least it’s supposed to warm up again by the weekend.
Loving – that my long-suffering husband, when he comes home and I’m all pregnant-pissy-cannot-be-pleasant, instead of shooting me the evil eye gets on the phone and orders me my favorite take-out pasta and plays with the Hatchling to get her out of my hair.

The Final Countdown

One week to go, y’all. Which is good, because my ability to perambulate is decreasing by the hour. Think of a lame penguin crossed with an ungainly whale/african elephant mix and you’ll get some idea. I caught sight of a reflection of myself walking from my doctor’s appointment this morning and just about died of laughter. Things that would make this last week a lot more bearable:

1. A Lark.
2. A catheter/pee bag combo. SO SICK OF PEEING.
3. Some kind of weightless sleeping system. A flotation tank, maybe? One of those really expensive Tempur-pedic beds?
4. An elevator, or alternatively a one-story home.
5. Some kind of evolutionary development that eliminates all acid from my stomach. Temporarily.
6. A personal assistant/court jester/masseur/housekeeper combo to cater to my every need.

So, you know. Those should all be manageable, right? Someone get on that.

Two Things

Item one – Conversation between me and the Hatchling this afternoon, as she’s running around with her superhero “cape” on (a big silk scarf she ties around her neck):

Hatchling: I superhewwo!

Me: You are a superhero.

Hatchling: Fwy weawwy fast.

Me: You sure are flying fast. Go, go, go!

Hatchling (stopping and looking right at me): I BATMAN.

Me: You’re Batman?!

Hatchling: Yeah, dat’s wight. I BATMAN!!!!

Her father is so proud.

Item Two – I’ve been scanning in some old family photos just so I have them digitally, and I came across this one of me and my parents circa 1972. I’m not normally at a loss for words, but … wow. Kind of explains a lot, doesn’t it?

Not fit for public consumption

Oh, y’all. I am so bitchy and irritable. Today marks the two week countdown: assuming nothing happens early, we’ll be greeting kid 2.o sometime around 1pm two weeks from today. Which means I should be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, right? The pregnancy is almost over! I should be happy about that! And I would be, except the heartburn and the sleeplessness and the sheer inability to MOVE is making me a total crabass all the time. Everyone and everything is just getting on my last nerve, which makes me SO MUCH FUN to live with. Gah. I don’t even like living with myself right now. I’M GETTING ON MY OWN NERVES. What’s the cure for that, I’d like to know? So, anyway: blogging may be light, unless I can think of anything worthwhile to say that doesn’t involve being annoyed by everything.