The Kiddie Cocktail

The last two weeks tried to kill me

Let me recap:

May 2-7: Visiting my mom in Idaho with the baby. She has decaf coffee, no sugar, and no real milk. She is definitely trying to kill me. I am saved at the last second by the discovery of fully caf beans in her freezer, which she's had since we last visited a year ago. To be fair, she just moved into a new house. BUT STILL. I vacillate between relief at having only one child to care for, and boredom, because there ain't that much to do at my mom's house. Declare wine o'clock at 4pm as survival mechanism.

Tuesday, May 7: Fly home solo with baby as lap child. Swear that I am never, ever, EVER doing a cross-country flight with a lap child again. Ajax hasn't pooped since we flew TO Idaho last Thursday. Prepare for imminent poopocalypse, by packing all the spare outfit, all the diapers, and all the wipes in my carry-on. Right on cue, he lets loose in the middle of the Denver to DC flight. By some miracle, I have an empty seat next to me, an amiable aisle seat mate, and a changing table on the aircraft. I congratulate myself at my kick-ass mom skills, as I bag up the desecrated outfit in a Ziploc, put the baby in something new and cute, and hold him as he sleeps for much of the flight.

Midnight-ish, Tuesday night: Had arrived home to the small child hacking like a tubercular patient. Husband says it started the day before. Dosed her with hippie homeopathic cough/cold stuff at bedtime. It's not working. Send husband in to her room to comfort her. Awoken again soon thereafter by despondent wailing, lights going on. We have bed puke, apparently from the coughing. Crap. I try to suggest to Seth that he stay with her in her room in case of more hurling, but he insists she won't throw up anymore because it was from coughing, so somehow, she ends up in bed with me, and Seth is on the sofa. Of course, it turns out she can't keep water down and throws up twice more, but because I am Worst Case Scenario Prep Mom, I have ample towels, and the bedding is saved. I don't sleep. At all.

6:30 am, Wednesday: WHY IS THIS SICK CHILD AWAKE AND CHIPPER? I walk her downstairs to the person who GOT UNINTERRUPTED SLEEP on the sofa, inform him that he should not go to work, and that I am going back to bed with the baby. Get to sleep past 9, because the baby thinks he's still on Mountain time.

Wednesday: Helene is clearly pretty sick. With what, I'm not sure. Fever, not hungry, coughing. Falls asleep on hardwood floor for over an hour. Crap. Give her water & Gatorade. Crackers & water at 4pm are regurgitated an hour later. CRAAAP. That night, I give her Tylenol, and god knows what else, drag the humidifier back out of the closet, and dispatch Seth to sleep with her.

Thursday, Friday, half of Saturday: Stuck in house with sick older child and not-yet-sick baby. Going to stick a fork in my eye if I have to watch one more Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Surgically scrubbing my hands every 10 minutes; pouring hand sanitizer on everyone's hands, including the baby's; washing & disinfecting everything I can think of in the house, including wiping down my iPhone with 91% isopropyl alcohol. Have decided Helene has a really wretched cold. Dose her with the serious cough suppressants so we can all sleep. Am determined that the baby will not get this, because he's finally healthy from the last frigging late-season cold. So far, so good. Wish very hard to be back at my mom's germ-free house, bored out of my skull.

Saturday, midday: Brief reprieve. Husband sends me out of the house for lunch and a pedicure. OH MY GOD I'M GIDDY TO BE OUTSIDE OF THE HOUSE. ALONE. I literally have not left the house since getting home Tuesday night. Indulge in a day-drinking glass of sangria.

Sunday morning: Mother's Day. Have slept horribly, as baby started up with a dry hacking cough at 2 am. Fuuuuccckkk. Decide the older child is well enough to go to ballet class. Then she has a coughing fit and horks up her OJ at breakfast. We decide it's just due to the cough, because she wolfs down a huge amount of breakfast. Dose her with something and take her to ballet. Come home delirious with exhaustion and an ominous tickle in my throat. Mainline Zicam. Beg for a nap. I get to lie down for two hours, though it's so hard for me to actually nap. Wake up and feel like I might survive. Seth is cooking dinner for Mother's Day. I declare we are going to eat outside, because I've barely been outside in days on end, and it's sunny, if a bit breezy. The poor, getting-sick baby ends up sleeping through dinner.

Sunday night/Monday morning, midnight-ish: Seth is put on Helene Duty.  Awakened by lights and wailing. Helene is screaming that her ear hurts, Seth is trying to give her Tylenol. She's very upset, which makes her cough uncontrollably, which makes her puke up everything in her stomach. Again. We are quick with the towels, grateful it wasn't in her bed, and we steam-clean her rug at 12:30 at night. The baby miraculously does not wake up. No one else really sleeps for the rest of the night.

Monday: Sick visit for the small child! Bronchitis! Ear infection! Antibiotics! The baby and I sniffle and cough. I drag out all the humidifiers, AGAIN. I use antibiotic wipes, hand sanitizer, alcohol, on everything. I wash everything I can think of in the dishwasher and washing machine. We all try to take naps. I want my mommy. Or anyone's mommy.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday: All kind of a blur. I just want to cry. I am surviving only because I am not too sick to drink coffee, and because Helene can FINALLY be sent to school. The baby is sad and hacking and sniffly and sick, and neither one of us is sleeping well. I'm exhausted. Helene has at least been sleeping.

Friday: Everyone seems perked up. The baby is back to smiling, and is significantly less snorty and snotty. I declare it Thai takeout night. I think we're all going to live.

Today: Surviving and relatively healthy. The baby & I still rattle-phlegm-cough once in awhile. The weather's nice. We've been outside a lot, thank goodness. The next one who sniffles or coughs is getting put out on the street. So is the next one who tells me how joyful it is to have small children.

 

The Last Baby

It's pretty obvious to anyone who knows me or follows me on Twitter that Ajax is The Last Baby. I do not like being pregnant. We waited four years to have a second, instead of jumping on that two-year child spacing bandwagon like practically everyone else we know. It took us awhile to be sure that we wanted a second. We got to now or never time, and pulled the trigger on NOW. I am old. It's practically a miracle that I got pregnant pretty easily at 39 with only the possible assistance of acupuncture. I am OLD. My eggs are OLD. We are DONE.

But as everyone with a Last Baby knows, just because your rational self says you are done, your hormones and your heart have other ideas, and they toy with your emotions mercilessly, leaving you sinking to the floor, teary and faint, at the sight of an outgrown organic cotton footie sleeper.

Specifically, this footie sleeper, because LOOK AT IT.

I agonize over almost every item of too-quickly too-small clothing that I put in a box in Ajax's closet, ready to go too soon to some other little baby. I got all teary over the little baby accessories at my mother in law's house in New Jersey that she will sell or give away soon, because by the time we visit again, he won't use it anymore. He just barely fits in a Moses basket still; I sold the one we had in our bedroom, but I'm still holding on to the one we have in the living room, because I just...can't...quite yet.

Ajax isn't just our last baby; he's the last baby in either of our families for awhile. He's the last grandchild, for both my mother and for my in-laws. We visited my mother last week, made the trek to Idaho. She's recently been diagnosed with something called dermatomyositis, a rare-ish autoimmune disorder, and she couldn't come visit when Ajax was born. So we had to go see her, to make sure she got to meet and hold this baby. She said, while we were there,"I thought I wouldn't have any grandchildren. Now I have one of each." The last little grandbaby that she gets to hold.

He's the last baby among this generation of Seth's cousins, at least the ones we regularly see. There are a couple of younger cousins who may have children in the next few years, but they aren't the ones we do all the family holidays with, so their kids won't be part of the pack of children that has just gotten its last, youngest, member. Ajax will always be the littlest one, the baby, at all the holidays. He'll have to tag along with the bigger ones, and we will have to make them be nice to him, and include him in their games.

He was technically in existence as the last great-grandchild before Great Grandpa Max died. The last day we spent with Max, last year, over Memorial weekend, I was just seven or eight weeks along, just barely pregnant. We knew, but weren't telling anyone. I wonder if we should have told Max, or if someone did, or if he knew. Seth's cousin Jamie guessed this time, just like she did when I was pregnant with Helene.

I watch Seth's parents and his aunts and uncles with our boy, with this last little baby. I arrive at a family event, and he is snatched (lovingly) from me and passed around from warm, gentle arms, to warm, gentle arms, cradled, jiggled, snuggled, adored. They know, these aunts, uncles, grandparents. They know how fast it goes, how sweet and delicious and precious it is, and they savor every moment of his warm babyness. They are expert at getting him to sleep, happy to hold him for so long, giving him up reluctantly to another family member. I watch them, and I think, I need to do more of that, just hold him. 

The sweet cocoon of his newborn days is already gone; it come so fast, so rapid-fire this first year, and all the stupendous changes that babies go through in a mere 12 months. It's so busy this time, too, because he's the second baby, and half the time we're just trailing along in the wake of his sister, and there isn't so much time for just holding the baby, and lying on the floor with him, marveling at his essence. I love it all, I do, but there are always those moments where I catch my breath, gasp, panic a little, because, not so fast, my last little baby, not so fast.

 

Four months

I know we all say it but WHAT? WHAT? Four months? When? Where? How?

Ajax is entering the Golden Age of Baby, where they're conscious and interactive and so fun and cute. He's generally a really happy baby. He smiles at the least provocation, at everyone. Sometimes, it seems he's just waiting for you to look at him, so he can grin at you, and flail his little hands in the air.

People always remark on his eyes. Of course, I think they're gorgeous and perfect, but judge for yourself.

His thatch of soft baby duck down hair is slowly falling out, and coarser hair is slowly growing in. It's still dark; he still has plenty of it; but we swear we can see a red-auburn tinge in this new hair. Are we getting another redhead? I love his hair, especially when it does this:

He gets super duper crazy excited to sit up and stand up. He's always liked being vertical; never wanted to be held in a cradled position, and he's still the same. He wants to see stuff, man, don't cramp his style by making him lay down. He's juuuust about to roll over.

He's so easy, for the most part. He goes to sleep for naps and at night really easily. Even with a re-instituted middle of the night diaper change, because I haven't found a diaper that holds all the pee yet. I do wish he'd sleep a teensy bit longer at a stretch at night, but I think we'll get there (just nod and tell me we will so I don't go out of my mind). He does wake up happy, and will just lie there blah blah blah-ing at the ceiling for a good long time in the mornings. I can't complain.

Ajax is so much bigger than Helene was at this age. She was maaaybe 11 pounds at this point. He's got to be 15 or so. And stronger. He has crazy-good head & neck control; more like what Helene had at six months. So good that I got out the high chair on a whim, and stuck him in it. He loves it. Absolutely loves sitting with us at the dinner table, looking around and smiling, grabbing some toys off the tray. It's all delightful, and honestly, it makes dinner more fun to have him sitting there with us.

He's really playing with toys, grabbing them and stuffing them in his mouth. My hand, a burp cloth, his clothes, apparently also count as toys. I can't tell if he might be starting teeth or if he's just obsessed with stuffing everything in his mouth. (Please no teeth little dude, just please no.)

Ha ha! I have thwarted you by grabbing my shirt and chewing on it and looking at you with crazy eyes! Take that, Mom-lady!

Oh, and the vocalization. It is so hilarious and fun. And often so loud and screechy. We've moved on from ooooh and ahhhh to BLAHHH and GAAAH and AWWOOOAHHH. Helene complains that she can't hear things and that he's hurting her ears. Sometimes, it's simply impossible to watch TV or listen to music while he's around, because man, he is loud. I often can't tell if he's upset or just doing freeform vocal experimentation. He even makes himself cough with the crazy-ass noises he makes.

I love Ajax's eyes - they are so big anyhow, and they get impossibly wide when he sees something that he's excited about. He loves to go places and be out. I can just watch his huge eyes drinking everything in (what does the world look like to you, little baby? ) and he babbles to himself from the stroller or carrier.

Ermagehrd, it's the sun!

He tries to laugh, the most hilarious scratchy, screechy, yowling gasping sound. He's almost there. He especially does it if you pretend to sneeze, or tickle him under the chin (a known Kaufman specially ticklish spot).  He's at that stage where I just want to lie with him, making crazy sounds and faces. Helene gets mad at me, because booooring, Mama. However, she can be persuaded to do the same thing, now that she realizes Ajax loves to watch her and that he will smile and laugh at things she does. She wants so badly for him to be "a kid" so he can play with her. I'm trying to show her that it's starting, that she can play with him, and it will only get better. Even as I mourn the quickly-passing baby stages, I have to remember that it gets even better.

And then one day, you wake up with a hat and purse, answering to Mrs. Nesbitt and drinking Darjeeling. It's your fate as the little brother, sorry.

 

Ajax's birth story

I woke up early on the morning of December 26, 2012 with pretty strong regular contractions. I was sure this was it - we were going to get our baby boy today! When they didn't quit, I did what any normal person would do, and I told Twitter.

Houston, I think we have labor. Still early, but I'm pretty sure this is it. (!!!!!!!)

— Roberta (@DCZia) December 26, 2012

Then I called my midwives and doula. Priorities, people.

Of course, because I told all of Twitter I was on my way to having a baby, my contractions petered out by about noon. Crap. I was very irritated, because I was so tired of being pregnant, and I was ready to get this birth over with and done, ready to leave the weight and the achy feet and the wacky insomnia and the awful heartburn behind forever.

Phooey. May have been a false start. That'll teach me to tell Twitter. Not saying anything else unless I'm at the hospital.

— Roberta (@DCZia) December 26, 2012

Pregnancy in general makes me cranky, this pregnancy especially so. Mostly because my primary coping mechanism, wine, is off limits. And I was very cranky by the afternoon of the 26th. My uterus didn't help matters any, because it decided to contract, oh, every once in awhile, just when it felt like it. Oh, go to hell, uterus. You get back to me when you're serious. My poor in-laws and husband tiptoed around me all day.

I'd also had a cold in some form or another, for the previous six weeks. Combine germy preschool child with immune-system suppressed pregnant woman with the worst rhinoviruses in years, and you get me. Congested, coughing, and miserable for six weeks, and unable to take any good cold drugs. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I was really miserable, coughing nonstop, and no wimpy cough either - one of the deep, body-racking kinds. And also wearing pads and changing my underwear a lot because of the whole late pregnancy cough --> pee thing. Such glamour.

So I hadn't slept much for two nights, because I just couldn't stop coughing. Seth, who sleeps through anything, even gave up and slept on the couch, so we could both try, TRY, to get some kind of sleep. The coughing and no-sleep thing was really worrying me, because what WOULD I do if I went into labor? How on earth was I supposed to labor if I couldn't breathe and was coughing nonstop, and hadn't slept because of this damn cold? Needless to say, I wasn't happy.

I spent the 26th being cranky, timing contractions, cursing my uterus, hacking up a lung, and calling in sick to work, because I had planned to work from home that day. I told my boss I had an awful cold, which was true. (She was going to be very surprised the next time I called her and told her why I wasn't working.)

I tried to eat some facsimilie of dinner the night of the 26th, because I knew I'd need some fuel if I did really go into labor. I went to bed as early as possible, and got maybe an hour or two of sleep, before being woken by coughing and then some stronger, regular contractions around midnight. I was not going to be taken in by my stupid faker uterus again; I was going to time these contractions for a GOOD LONG TIME before calling it labor. I got cozy in bed with my iPhone, timed contractions, read Twitter, and tubercular-coughed away. At around 2 am, I decided my uterus was indeed serious, because, damn, this was starting to hurrrt and be kind of intense, and yow wow, I was going to need some help here.

I called my doula, called the on-call midwife, and said, yeah, I think this time it is for real. I asked our doula Laurie to come on over, because I needed support. I was really feeling like I couldn't do this by myself. Finally, I woke Seth up from his sound sleep on the sofa. "What time is it?" he asked. "2 am." He sighed. "Oh. I was really hoping you were going to say it was 6 am and I'd gotten a lot more sleep." "Sorry."  Seth went downstairs to wake his parents and tell them this was probably for real this time. I willed Helene to NOT wake up.

Things were starting to get pretty intense, and ouchy, and yeow, deep breaths. I was trying some different positions, decided I desperately needed this beanbag ottoman thing to sit on, and I really, really wanted Laurie to get there soon. She did, and quickly made me feel a bit better with some hot warming pads for my back, an exercise ball, and getting me to slow and deepen my breath. It wasn't that long before I felt like we needed to get to the hospital soon. I didn't want to have to be in late labor in the car, and I was hoping to get into a warm birthing tub, because that really helped me last time.

We left for the hospital at about 4 am. (Helene, miraculously, did not wake up until after we left. My mother in law was staying upstairs with her, and when she told Helene that I had gone to the hospital to have the baby, Helene apparently sat up in bed, and got really, really excited. Aww. My sweet girl.) I really recommend having to drive to a DC hospital at this hour because there is absolutely no traffic, and we zipped down to George Washington in record time with only one minor traffic infraction by Seth. Seth and Laurie found an orderly and a wheelchair and got me up to L&D pretty quickly. I was led into a gigantic birthing room, and the tub was filling up. I could not wait to get into that tub.

But, blah de blah, there had to be 30 minutes of contraction and baby heart rate monitoring before I'd be allowed in the tub. Because I was a VBAC, I had to be continuously monitored as well, and the monitors were these discs on elastic bands that I could, allegedly, wear while I moved around and even in the shower and tub, as they worked on telemetry. I also got Sierra, the midwife to do one last ultrasound to be sure this baby was still head down, because no more surprise breech babies, thanks. He was, so onward we went.

I had a comfortable black maternity dress that I wanted to labor in, because I hate hospital gowns, and I was kind of hoping to channel Jonna and her, ah, precipitous labor with Allie in a black maternity maxi dress, and get this shit over with. But you know, the dress didn't last long. I had this primal thing that I wanted to get stark naked and be in some water. I was begging for the tub, but the 30 minutes of monitoring weren't over, the damn elastic bands kept sliding around, so everyone suggested I get in the shower instead.

I hung on to a bar for dear life in the shower and stood and bent over and labored, and everyone around me was an excellent sport and got fully soaking wet. Laurie was outstanding at keeping the warm water moving up & down my back, the nurses were amazing sports at crawling under me to keep adjusting the effing monitor straps. Things weren't reading right? Something? I kept begging for the tub. But there was some concern about the baby's heart rate, and the midwife and Laurie had to break the news to me: no tub. If there were complications, it was a very bad place to be. I was crushed. I wanted to collapse. I had been so counting on that tub - it was the best thing ever last time. But I knew I just had to get right over that and concentrate on my labor. It was about this time in the shower that I couldn't get comfortable, that everything hurt, and that I started wailing that I didn't know how I could do this. Somewhere in the back of my rational brain, I knew, "This is transition. This abject hopelessness means you're close." But Jesus, I was getting tired and wrung out. This is the point at which I might have started asking for painkillers or given in to the suggestion of them. But I'd signed on for a drug-free labor, and no one in that room was going to offer me an epidural or let me have one unless things went really far south.

I knew I was done with the shower, and I needed to be somewhere else. It was so deeply animalistic, uncontrollable. I just had to move, to roam around, until I found that right position. Somewhere in here I started thinking, there has GOT to be some middle ground between epidural and drug-free labor, because THIS SHIT HURTS. There has GOT to be a better way. Had I not been otherwise occupied, I would have been bent on inventing it at that moment. Somewhere in here I also realized that I hadn't coughed one single time since labor really started getting intense, way back when I was still at home. Nature, man. It does know what it's doing.

I kind of flailed around for awhile, trying to find the right position. Sitting on a ball, nope. Squatting, nope. I kind of collapsed on to Laurie at one point, bless her for being unflustered. "It just hurts so much," I cried. "How am I going to do this? Tell me how to do this."

Labor just seemed so hard this time, so much harder than last time. I think it was because I had been so sick for so long, because I hadn't gotten much sleep, because I was four years older, and because I couldn't get in the tub. I felt exhausted, and like I was not going to make it. (Hello, transition, again!). One of the nurses kept telling me, "The only way out is through. Push through that pain." She was right, but it just seemed so near to impossible. I was in a crazy hands & knees position on the bed at this point, which, apparently, the baby's heart rate liked a lot better. I had my head resting on my arms which were resting on the head end of the bed, which was raised at a 45 degree angle. With my naked rear end facing the room. I don't know. It was just working. In this position, I finally pushed hard enough for my water to break. I was already beyond caring about anything when we got to the hospital, and even more so now. After awhile, I needed to change positions again, and the midwife suggested getting the squat bar for the bed. That sounded like a spectactular idea to me. I just couldn't be on my knees any more; something had to happen soon. Seth told me later that at this point, I looked like I had run a marathon. I was breathing hard, and dripping sweat. (He does, in fact, know what I look like when I run a marathon, so it's accurate.) The marathon was hard, but nothing like this - this was a deeper, longer, more profound, kind of hard.

The squat bar was on, and I felt quite desperate at this point. I had to get this baby out. I was tired. I wanted to see him. I wanted this OVER WITH. I pushed as hard and long as I could, about every minute or two. I felt like absolutely nothing was happening. Everyone was telling me he was moving down! They could see the head! But it felt nothing like all those Ina May Gaskin rapturous hippie birth stories. I couldn't feel him moving down. I didn't feel elated or excited. I was just exhausted and at the bitter end of my rope. They tried to get me to feel the top of his head, and I halfheartedly put my hand down there, but I just didn't care. It was extra effort that I didn't have the energy for.

The midwives were switching off; Sierra was leaving and Nora came. The two of them were my favorite midwives in the practice, and they had also worked at the birth center where Helene was supposed to be born, and knew my whole story. Sierra had been in the next room at another birth when I was taken to the hospital in an ambulance with my surprise breech baby. I was disappointed that she had to leave, but grateful that Nora was taking her place. It was seamless, and comforting.

Nora told me that the baby was sort of stuck behind my pubic bone, and I needed to reposition my hips a bit to try to get him to move under it. I continued to push with everything I had each time. The nurse was rubbing me with mineral oil, to stretch and slick things up in hopes of mitigating any tearing. Apparently, she spilled some, and was apologizing to Nora for getting her oily, and was busy mopping Nora's surgical gown. I rested for a minute, thinking, I want to be DONE. I moved my hips to a different place on the edge of the bed, and thought, this is fucking it, and pushed with every last thing I had. The baby literally shot out, as if fired from a circus cannon. There was no slow birth of the head, then the shoulders, then the body, like I'd seen in childbirth class. Nope, he was ALL OUT. Nora literally caught the baby as he launched out, fully in blast range of amniotic fluid and god knows what else. I think everyone got a little spattered. Hey, I wanted to be DONE.

They quickly toweled him off a bit and put him right on my belly. I was so relieved to be done, I almost forgot! Hey, a baby! MY baby! My baby boy! Seth ran to the bathroom to get my glasses, realizing I needed to see him. Oh, his hair! Look at all his hair! Where did that come from? He's so warm, and pink and perfect. I was vaguely aware of Laurie snapping photos with a nice-looking Nikon, and I was so grateful she was freeze-framing these moments for me. Suddenly, our boy shocked everyone, raising his head up off of my chest, and looking around at everyone in the room with his huge, blue shooter marble eyes. "Whoa, did you see that?!" asked Nora. "That's some head strength."

It felt like I had been there forever, but it hadn't even been four hours. We'd left the house at 4 am, and he was born at 8:31 am.

Nora said, "You did it! You were amazing." "And I never have to do it again!" I said. Everyone laughed. Suddenly, I felt great. I couldn't stop smiling. "So, I can have all the drugs now, right?" I asked, also suddenly quite aware of some serious stinging ouchiness in my nether regions. My last, surging push of desperation had given me a couple of tears that would have to be stitched up. "Seriously, can I get some painkillers here?" Someone dispatched water and some sort of oral painkiller. Nora Lidocaine'd me up, and started stitching, and I held my deliciously warm little baby boy, my little love.

I don't know how it's possible to love something, someone, so instantly, and I know that doesn't happen for everyone, but it did for me, twice, with both my babies. Holy cow, BOTH my babies. Now I had TWO. That thought alone was enough for me to be grateful to be lying down.

Seth got to cut the cord. They weighed him right there, six pounds nine ounces, 19 inches long. Almost the same as his sister. They let me hold him for a long time (never long enough, though) and then it was time for him to go off to the nursery and for me to get moved out of the birthing room to a regular room.

"Does he have a name?" Nora asked. Seth and I looked at each other. We'd promised Helene that she would be the first one to know his name, but we had to give him his name, at least just here in this room, announce him to someone, now that he was here. "Ajax," we said. "Ajax." A warrior of great strength.

 

 

Seven quick-ish takes

1. Easter. We did it, such as we do it. When you have a Jew and an atheist as the parents in a family, it's sometimes tough to figure out what to do with such holidays. I do it for Helene in a purely secular/celebration of spring way, because that's how my parents did it when I was a kid. Easter was always pretty low key. Baskets, visit to grandparents, candy, egg hiding, dinner. I do it because Easter is FUN. Dyeing eggs! Chocolate! Peeps! Presents! Believe me, when you have a kid with a November birthday, which is quickly followed by Hanukkah & Christmas, you look for other potential gift giving occasions at other times in the year to balance out the winter gift avalanche. Friends were going to come over for dinner, but they were all stricken with a stomach bug, and we're all afflicted to some degree with a cold, plus the weather was kind of crappy, so we sat around all day, watched movies, hid eggs, and did mostly nothing. I tried to have a nice dinner with roast chicken and candles, and then the small child refused to eat, begged to go to bed, and had a nearly 103 temperature, oh hey! The baby snuffled and coughed his way to bedtime, and yeah, that day didn't end like I wanted exactly.

2. Easter baskets. Jen requested that people post what they put in Easter baskets so we can all steal each others' ideas for years to come. I highly recommend the dollar bins at Target. From those, I got fuzzy bunny ears, Hello Kitty Easter hair clips/bows, little seed packets with their own pots, a bumblebee fork & spook set, and adhesive "jewels" for craft projects. I added bottles of nail polish (we like to do mani-pedis in rainbow colors), a new spring/summer dress (nothing fancy - just a cotton play dress) and matching footless tights, tubes of glitter glue, and of course, plenty of candy, including the obligatory chocolate bunny and Peeps. I know - Peeps. I love them. I don't know why, since I don't normally like super-sugary confections like that. My dad always liked them, so I like them, I guess. Helene ate them this year, and I couldn't be prouder as she carries on the Stewart family unnatural Peep love.

I only did an Easter basket for Helene, because well, the baby can only see a couple of feet in front of his face and is barely sentient. He got to wear bunny ears.

3. Holy crap, three months has gone by fast. The baby is THREE MONTHS OLD. I am in denial. I'm in that place where I'm utterly delighted by each and every new thing that he does --he clasps his hands! He's on the teetering verge of laughing. His eyes open so, so, so wide when I take him outside in the Ergo, his head tipped back, his mouth open, drinking in the world -- and at the same time I am heartbroken by each baby stage that whips by at record speed, flicking away out of my fingertips, now in the past. Why can't they change and grow and remain adorable little babies forever all at the same time? My heart can't take it.

4. The baby being three months old means I have to go back to work kind of soon. I had kind of offered to my office to do some minimal part-time work after being out for four or so months, and take back over one or two of the things I'd pawned off on other people. But they never said one way or the other whether they wanted me to do that, or whether any of the powers that be would approve part-time work. My immediate boss had just said "six months will be fine." So I've been coasting along, planning to not do anything related to work until after the fourth of July. And then my boss contacted me and brought it up, and I had that terrible, sinking, panicked feeling of nooooo, not yet! Too soon! The thing is, I'm not a really great stay at home mom. I'm okay at it, especially with a little baby who really only requires minimal entertainment. I like my job. I like getting out of the house and being a grownup. I don't work crazy hours or have a long commute. I can work from home. I hate the dinner-bath-bed crush. I hate being crazy tired at work after a rough night with children. It felt so hard and exhausting and unbalanced when I went back to work last time. I am hopeful to do it better this time. There are so many FEELINGS that I have about this subject. For now, I will say JUST NOT YET, OFFICE. Just not yet.

5. I hate it when I lose my shit with Helene. HATE. IT. I try so hard to be patient and calm, yet firm, and do the thing when you're doling out punishment where you don't show emotion, but goddamn, there is nothing like your own child who is an awful lot like you to press your hair-trigger buttons. Sometimes, I just escalate, zero to harpy, right to yelling, and then she feels awful, and throws a fit, and I'm mad, and she's unhappy, and, ugh. Then I feel terrible and guilty for hours, and think about how I could have handled it better, and sometimes, I have no good answers, except to just stop getting mad.

 

6. Speaking of no good answers, my lovely four years and four months old girl, who never tantrummed at age two, has become a five-star master of fit throwing. She has volume and stamina. It's the worst when we have some kind of transition. Like leaving a friend's house, leaving ballet, going to school on Monday, leaving the playground. She went to a playdate after school the other day, and when I picked her up, the epic fit began. She consented to go home, and climbed into the stroller (thank goodness I had it, because I'm not sure I could have made her walk) and proceeded to scream and gnash teeth the entire 15 minute walk home, saying over and over and OVER that she didn't want to leave, that we had to go back, that I had to turn around. I gritted my teeth, tried to remove myself to a serene place in my head with strong cocktails, and didn't say one word to her until we got home. Then I asked her very nicely to go inside and calm down. If she still wanted to whine and cry, she could go to her room. Whaddaya know, she actually did go inside, calm down & ask nicely to do something. Maybe there's hope. But how do I get the fit to NOT HAPPEN in the first place? I just want her to leave someplace NICELY and not act like a feral creature whenever we leave anywhere. Taking any and all suggestions on dealing with these fits, gah.

 

7. I am having capital G Guilt about not visiting my mom with the baby. She's been sick, and was just diagnosed with dermatomyositis, which I knew nothing about, and now know only slightly more, and it doesn't sound that great. She couldn't travel to see the baby, but didn't tell me she was sick at first. She just had a new house built, and she made it sound like she couldn't leave when Ajax was born because she had to oversee the construction at the house site. She didn't even remember my due date. Because my mother won't tell me things, I spent weeks being VERY MAD at her for basically saying her new house was more important than her grandchild. She finally told me what was going on, and then I was mad in a whole new way. Seth said he can handle a few days with Helene if I go and take the baby. But I really hate going to visit Idaho. It's just not a lot of fun, honestly. But I could help her. But she could see the baby. But... but... shoot. I should just buy the plane ticket, right?

California dreaming

So, we took a cross country jaunt to Los Angeles last week. The purported reason was Seth's cousin's bat mitzvah, but that really served as a great excuse to go somewhere warm(er) and sunny at the end of February.

I worked myself into complete hysteria before we left, regarding traveling with two carseats, the ungodly number of accessories that little babies require, and finding a bat mitzvah-suitable outfit for my still-postpartum-not-quite-right body. That last one drove me to tears, and I was THISCLOSE to cancelling the whole damn trip.

Fortunately, I didn't cancel, and cobbled together an outfit from the depths of my closet, a quick J. Crew order, and some large, shiny jewelry to distract from anything else.

Incognito in LA

Because, oh my god, Southern California. I've always felt like California is this slightly magical place to live, what with the climate, the ocean, the mountains, the vineyards, etc. Everyone who lives there seems to love it. It still seems like the fantastical land of fortune, way out West. (And then you get stuck in traffic somewhere, and think that if you lived there, you'd live near the beach and have a bicycle and never get in a car again. The traffic still may be a fair tradeoff for the weather and the sun.)

Venice Beach

For us, the five days were pretty magical, and such a welcome break from our regular life. We had amazing weather, and I took every opportunity to sit in the sun like a lizard, soaking it up, and making up for 3+ months worth of Vitamin D withdrawal. I'm a southwestern girl by birth, and I forget how much happier I am when I get enough sun.

We stayed in Santa Monica, and the beach was about three blocks away from our hotel. The first day, we went to the beach near the Santa Monica Pier. I'd warned Helene that the weather might not be that warm, and that we'd be able to play on the beach and make sand castles, but that we probably wouldn't want to get in the water or get wet because it would be kind of cold. In our first ten minutes on the beach, she was sandy and soaked, and it was actually hot, and I rolled up my sleeves, peeled off her sopping pants and texted Seth to see if he could find some size 4T dry clothes on the pier. We continued building our sand castle and dashing into the tingling icy waves.

We ended up staying on the beach for hours, and then spending the rest of the day on the pier. It's an enchanted day when you are four years old and find out you are finally over 36 inches tall, and big enough to go on almost all of the rides, many of them all by yourself.

We went on the ferris wheel at least three times, maybe more - I lost count.

Not that the rest of the time wasn't great, but that day, our first day there, was the best. It was perfect. Spectacular weather, a happy older kid, a shockingly amenable baby, who happily dozed and gazed at the world from his stroller the entire day. I'm at my best as a parent when we're out doing stuff. I love being out on the beach and building sand castles or looking for shells or running into the surf or just digging holes. I really love carnivals and amusement parks, with all their bright colors, and lights and cheesy nostalgia. I love the rides, the stupid games - I will do Skee Ball or Whack-A-Mole for an embarassingly long time, people. I'm such a better mom when we're out and about, and I'm not at home distracted by a thousand chores. A place like this makes me into a big kid myself, where I hear my voice saying "just one more ride!"

Baby on the beach

Because this was a family event, there were plenty of family members there to wrangle our children. Grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins all took plenty of turns entertaining Helene, holding the baby, and letting us simply sit and soak up the sun and azure sky. Because this baby take a bottle (HE TAKES A BOTTLE!), it's a million times easier for Seth and I to go out, and for me to be relaxed. 

Cousin Ross & Ajax

Cousin Riley (the bat mitzvah-ee) and Ajax

There's too much to talk about in detail; I will say that everything I remember about this trip is shot through with sun. We hit the Getty one day (spectactular - I think I want to live at the Getty), had another great day on the beach. The bat mitzvah itself was what it was, with the funniest thing being the 12 & 13 year old girls in very, VERY short skirts (I have belts that cover more than these skirts) who came over to coo at baby Ajax like they were old Brooklyn Jewish ladies. We had a Sunday brunch at Seth's cousin's lovely, lovely, house in Pacific Palisades, where I remembered again how much fun my husband's family is, and where I sat in the sun some more and barely saw my children because other people were entertaining them. We ended our last day with a farewell visit to the pier, and dinner in a kind of fancy restaurant in a kind of hilariously fancy Santa Monica mall, where Helene was again good as gold. She's finally at the age that she can sit for a pretty good long time at a restaurant, especially if she can color or draw. It's a sea change from the child a couple of years ago who would not sit for more than 10 or 15 minutes, and it's so great.

The Getty. White stone, sky, and a touch of Barbara Hepworth.

Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was our own state of relaxation, maybe it was having other family around to tend to them, but our children were unbelievably good on this trip. Helene's traveled plenty by now, and she knows the drill. She doesn't complain too much, and she can entertain herself pretty well with the iPad, some paper and markers, and the emergency landing instruction card. She loves to order apple juice from the flight attendants. She adjusts pretty well to time changes, and is pretty good at rolling with the sometimes-crazy of travel unless she's very, very tired. The baby was an unknown quantity, but he's been pretty chill for his short little life thus far, and we were hopeful. He was amazing. He slept for half or more of each flight, woke up happy, nursed, slept some more, and was utterly unfazed by takeoff and landing.  People actually complimented our good traveling children. One man asked what I had done to keep the baby from crying the entire flight. I just shrugged, because I know now that what my kid does so often has nothing to do with me. He just IS. While we had an early wakeup by Helene the first day with the time change, our children otherwise slept like rocks, and we put them to bed, shut the bedroom door (suite hotels with children are THE BOMB) and sat around and drank wine in peace each evening.

The artist at work at breakfast

It was one of those trips where we weren't ready to come home, especially to 40 degree weather and possible snow. One of those trips where most everything goes really, really right. One of those trips where Seth and I relax and smile and talk about where we want to move someday, where we might want to retire, where we make up lives for ourselves in Southern California. One of those trips where you get a glimpse of the really fantastic travels you can have someday when the children are a bit older. One of those trips with sun-touched memories you hold onto as you bear out the rest of winter, hope for summer, and dream about some other great trip in the future.

Six, no, seven, no, EIGHT weeks

I meant to post at six weeks. I did. I'd blogged a lot more about Helene by this time. It was just a different time. I was still kind of PTSD about the c-section, and she was the First Baby, so I didn't know enough to just chill the hell out about pretty much everything. I was so on edge about everything, every snuffle and cry and rustle, and WHAT DOES IT WAAANNNT?

So different this time. I am so much more relaxed, and I got lucky again with a pretty easy baby. Different, but still pretty easy. Helene really never cried. Of course, I also practically never gave her a chance to cry, having read waaaay too much Dr. Sears et al, and about the HORRIBLE HORRIBLE things that your baby felt if you let her cry, OMFG. This kid, he yowls pretty loudly and immediately when he wakes up and he's hungry. He has, since birth, made these funny caterwauling sounds that really do sound like a little cat meowling somewhere. When he's tired and needs to sleep, he is insanely fussy and screechy. But it's just no big deal this time. Also, with the First Child to look after as well, sometimes Second Baby gets laid down and left somewhere, and you go back to look, and hey, he's asleep! Good work!

And he NAPS. Like kind of seriously. Helene almost never slept more than an hour at a time (which she did several times a day). But this one? He'll sleep 2-3 hours at a clip, and usually does that at least once a day. Once again, GOOD WORK, LITTLE BABY.

Roberta @DCZia Follow Maybe it's the 13% Belgian beer talking, and I'm blissfully no longer pregnant, but this second baby was pretty much the best idea ever.   07:44 PM - 15 Feb 13

Ajax is still such a little grub. We still don't really know what he's going to be like. At this point, he's getting more alert. He smiles like a madman when he's in the mood. Often at empty corners and blank walls, which can be really creepy when you live in a 120-year old house and have an overactive imagination.

	Roberta @DCZia Follow The baby is engaging in that always slightly creepy infant habit of smiling hugely at apparently empty corners of the room.   02:56 PM - 12 Feb 13

I tickle him in the ribs, and he wiggles and this whole range of emotions goes across his face. Do I like this? I...think so? I am smiling? I am perplexed? I am frowning?

He's finding his hands. He manages to get them into his mouth and suck on them sometimes. He grabs his pacifier and stuffs it in there too. He likes to hold burp cloths that I've left beside them, and chew on those too. He holds on to my hands with a claw-grip, to make sure I keep that precious binky stuffed into his mouth when he's fussy and trying to sleep.

His hair is kind of the best thing ever. Oh my goodness, do I love his hair.

I totally don't do enough tummy time with him. Eh. He'll be fine. Kid has no lack of head/neck control. He strongly prefers to be carried around upright, so he can bobble his head around staring for awhile and then rest his little chin on your shoulder and look back at where he's been.

Photo by Emily Large

He falls asleep for the night between 9 & 10, sometimes after some very fierce fussing and gnashing of the pacifier and shrieking. But it is usually short-lived, and he finally passes out, giving me four or sometimes a blissful five hours of sleep. He snorts and snuffles and coos and finally yells his way awake, slurps down some milk, and goes back to sleep pretty easily, usually for 3 hours or so, then we repeat the cycle, and hope for a couple more hours. (My two more hours are typically cut short by Helene who, upon waking, runs full speed down the hall, and bounces into our bed, and that's the end of that peaceful snoozing.) I can't complain. I really can't.

He is (fingers crossed, knock on wood) taking a bottle really well so far. No issues. We even left him with a sitter the other night (our beloved former nanny, Yvonne) and he sucked down TWO four-ounce bottles of expressed milk during the four hours that we were gone. This has just GOT to keep up. I can't be in breastfeeding jail again. I just can't.

He's so much chunkier than Helene, on a different growth trajectory. He's got to be more than 10 pounds; Helene was barely 12 pounds at 4 months. Our 2-month well baby visit is tomorrow; it will be fun to see the scale. His, ah, output is certainly plentiful, so I can only assume that the intake is comparable.

 

Roberta @DCZia

The baby has suddenly gone to a poop every other day schedule, and now I think I need an EPA permit for him.   09:32 AM - 16 Feb 13

I go through those moments of panic, at his babyhood slipping so quickly away, like I did before. But I also look at Helene, and how flat out fun she is now - we do hard puzzles! We play checkers! I loved her as a baby, loved being home with her, and while I feel nostalgic and sentimental about it, I'm not sure I actually miss it.

Nonetheless, I snuggle him close, and just carry him around when maybe I don't actually have to, and feel his soft, so-alive warmth, his velvet skin. I inhale him. I think the stardust of all the universe must smell like this: of spilt milk, of pure baby skin and hair.

40 (How Long)*

My birthday twin, my college friend Eric spelled it out this way: Two to the second power times ten, or simply XL. I know why he did it. To avoid having to write it out in plain English or Arabic numerals. FORTY. 40. Whoa.

I've never been one to cringe at the numerals racking up, birthday by birthday. I've always said I will celebrate my birthday in full, and I will. But this one, this one. What is it about entering this fourth decade that makes me shrink from the number? Is it the idea of what forty should be? My mother seemed impossibly old at 40, when I was a child. It floors me that she was just two years from being diagnosed with breast cancer at 42. That has always seemed an age so far in the future for me, and now it is here. It's that decade of increasing medical exams and recommendations and infertility and eyesight and I don't know what else. I worry about stupid things, like how old I will be when Helene and Ajax are in college, when they get married, when they have children. I sort of hope they'll have children in their 20's, not like me, so I won't be such an old grandparent. This was not in the master plan, having a baby barely past newborn on my fortieth birthday.

Fuck that.

My wonderful cousin-in-law Jamie wrote to me this morning and said, "don't let people tell you it's bad - our kids keep us young!" Yes to that. Yes to getting out with them, and playing, running to keep up with my daughter on her balance bike. Yes to being silly more often. Yes to being older and wiser and mellower and more patient. (It's true! You should have seen me in my 20's, dear god) . Yes to blowing this decade all to hell. Yes to having another race medal hanging heavy around my neck sometime in the future. Yes to being an expert at my job. Yes to having enough money. Yes to the broad and deep and incredible group of people I'm privileged to call my friends. Yes to knowing some of them for almost my entire life. Yes to the amazing family that I have - made up of the one I was born to, the one I married into, and the one I've made for myself.  Yes to living well and deliciously and not missing a damn thing. Yes to not being twenty or thirty anymore, for being past the tumult and uncertainty that those ages brought to me.

Yes to all of that. Bring it, forty.

 

*Title by U2, my favorite band ever. I can listen to Unforgettable Fire and become an awkward, angsty teen again. Take that, forty!

About a boy

Ajax Maximilian Stewart Kaufman was born on December 27, 2012 at 8:31 am. I can't believe he's been with us for four whole weeks now.

Photo by our doula, Laurie Connor. Just moments after birth.

I didn't exactly worry that I wouldn't love this baby as much as I do Helene. I did think about it. I wondered if I wasn't feeling connected enough to our baby boy while he was in utero. The truth is, though, that you have considerably less time (read: pretty much NONE) for pregnant belly navel gazing and dreamy belly rubbing and baby kick feeling over Thai takeout with your husband when your first baby is a preschooler who has the nerve to demand constantly to be fed, entertained, bathed, taken to birthday parties, and play games, and need to be tucked in, etc., and who doesn't like Thai noodles anymore now that she is four and highly opinionated. I knew, of course, that he was in there, my very active baby, keeping me company with his practically constant kicking and poking and rolling and hiccups.

But he was so abstract, this male boy-creature; I just couldn't imagine him. What would I do with a boy? I had a penis, of all the outlandish things, growing inside of me. Would I feel strange about diapering him, nursing him, because he was a boy? Honestly, I tried not to delve too deeply into these thoughts, preferring to let them skitter away into their dark hidey-holes like mice. I focused instead on the cliched-because-it's-true things that every parent of more than one has ever said: you will just love that second one; there will always be enough love.  

Sure enough, after one big, desperate surging push, out he shot into the midwife's arms, christening everyone within blast radius with a spray of amniotic fluid, and then, there he was on my belly. There he WAS! So warm, and crying within seconds, and oh! Oh. OH! Hello! Here you are, of course it is you, of course I know you, of course I adore you, my little love. You are Ajax, and you are you, and everything is right.

Within a minute after birth, he'd raised his head all the way up off of my chest, and looked around at everyone there with eyes blue and clear as shooter marbles. "Wow," said the midwife. "Did you see that!?" My boy, already living up to his name.

It was so different this time. My do-over drug-free VBAC was better than I could have imagined. (Well, except the hard labor part of labor. There's nothing all that good about that.) Once the my-nethers-got-run-over-by-a-cheese-grater feeling subsided with some painkillers, I was seriously rather blissfully high on hormones and sleep deprivation and BABY. He was just delicious, and warm and snuggly, and latched on to nurse perfectly and easily the first time and thereafter.

This was so unlike last time, when I was in so much pain, beaten down by it, afraid I couldn't take care of my baby girl, afraid to be released from the hospital, hobbling down the halls with excruciating slowness. This time, I was walking around my room the first afternoon, holding, lifting, & changing Ajax the first night. By the second night, I'd sent Seth home to sleep, and was completely fed up with the hospital routine, interruptions, lectures about how often to nurse and not letting the baby sleep in bed with me (this ain't my first co-sleeping rodeo, nurse-lady) and crazy hours (Really? You take the baby to be weighed at midnight? And it takes over an hour?)

Seth sprung us from that hospital joint Saturday morning, and I'm not sure I've ever been happier to be home. My house was the warmest, fullest, loveliest place on earth on Saturday, December 29, as far as I was concerned. It had snowed lightly that day, we had a fire in the fireplace, dinner cooked by my amazing mother in law, my daughter kissing her baby brother. I had a little wine in my glass, and I was absurdly in love with my husband all over again. As my mother said, now you're all here.

Yes, we are. I had no idea how in love with you I'd be, my boy, and how full and complete and replete you'd make my life feel. You're perfect, you're everything. Welcome.

 

Four

I've probably written the least about you this year, my big little girl. It's been such a crazy time, your baby brother poking me in the ribs with his feet, our house undergoing a transformation, moving back into our home, and the horrible cold that has plagued me for three weeks. I've been so tired from all of that, and I'm afraid I haven't been the best mother that you so deserve. Despite my best intentions, this isn't even getting posted on or even all that near to your birthday, and I'm still working on it, trying to memorialize all of those shining, amazing things that are YOU this year, this fourth year.

Your birthday cake, that you wanted to decorate yourself.

You've been wanting to be four for months, now. You decided where you wanted to have your fourth birthday party back in June, and didn't change your mind one bit. So, we booked it, and you had as great a time as everyone hoped, with all of your friends from school and our neighborhood. You are so decisive and precise and articulate. I can't believe how specific you are about things, from the people that you wanted to invite to your party to the things you say you are going to teach your baby brother (how to play with toys, how to eat, how to crawl, how to walk).

Because you are still an only child for the moment, you got the ridiculous benefit of four separate birthday celebrations: first, one in conjunction with our house re-opening party; second, the "kid" party; third, cake, ice cream and candles on your actual birthday; and fourth, the annual Thanksgiving celebration with all your cousins who also have November birthdays. I hope all that sugar makes up for me not writing about you much this year.

 

We moved out of our beloved house for four months this year, while we renovated it to add another bedroom, to get ready for your brother. You took it in stride, you really, really did. You adapted so quickly to living in our temporary home in a high-rise apartment building, as unlike our creaky old rowhouse as it could be. You loved pushing all of the elevator buttons, telling everyone you lived on the fourth floor, asking them what floor they lived on, petting all the little dogs who were going out for their walks, talking to everyone in sight, and charming the front desk staff as you bounded outside every morning.

I was so tired from being pregnant that I gave in to your demand that I stay in your bed with you while you fell asleep every night. You took to the big, full-sized bed without a hitch. Sometimes, I'd end up sleeping there half the night or all night, comforted as I always have been by the warmth of your deeply breathing body. You'd often go to sleep with your petal-soft hand touching my cheek. How could I leave you?

Of course, there was the pool at the apartment building. Oh, the pool. We went swimming nearly every night for the first month that we lived there. It turned out that one of the other building residents, Miss Nikki, taught swim lessons to all the little kids on Monday night. We couldn't believe our luck, and we watched you flourish, my little fish (do you remember that we called you that when you were the one in my womb?). You went from refusing to lie on your back in the water to paddling on your back all by yourself the length of the pool. You still don't make the fearless leaps into the water that some of the other girls do, but you jump in with a splash, over and over and over. I dreaded having to tell you we were moving home, and that there would be no more pool, but you took it in stride again, my big little girl.

Backstroke from Roberta Stewart on Vimeo.

 

 

Right now, you want to count everything - all the flowers on the rug, the peas on your plate, everything, anything. You also spell everything, reading the letters on street signs and mail, whatever it is that has letters. You do math without realizing it, adding 3 and 1 to make four. You are on the very cusp of reading, so close, so close, and I can't wait for that world to open to you.

We have read all of our baby brother/big sister books a hundred times. You have asked so many questions - how big is the baby? Will he be able to talk? Will I be able to hold him? This summer, after never being attached to any particular toy, you adopted a stuffed pink elephant (alternately Ella and simply Elephant) as a special companion. Ella has to sleep with you, get wrapped in a blanket and carried at the store, come to school with you(where she waits in your backpack all day), and get buckled in to the backseat next to you. I think you're practicing for your brother. You are going to be such a fantastic big sister. You asked me the other day why you can't come to the hospital to be with us when the baby is born, and I don't have a great answer for you, other than, it's not allowed. Because I realized today that I wish I could have you there.

I had a midwife appointment today, on your birthday. At the time I saw my midwife today, it was the time four years ago when I should have been pushing you out into the world, that moment when we discovered you were coming out your own way, butt down, little contrarian. I talked about your birth today, as I prepare for the birth of your brother. I'm a little scared about trying to push him out, because I didn't get to do that with you. I thought about what would comfort me, what would relax me, what would make me laugh, what would make me open up, and it occurred to me that having you there would do all of those things. You'd hold my hand, and tell me my belly is big, and ask me why I'm making that noise, and run amuck around the room, and want to paddle in the birth tub with your water wings, and make the nurses laugh, make us laugh. You'd get my water bottle for me, and hold your palm against my cheek. I will be thinking all about you, my gorgeous girl, on the day of your brother's birth, for all the things you bring to me, to my life.

It feels strange to me to still be pregnant, after your birthday has passed. I know this baby is not you, of course. Because you were (will always be) my first baby, the memories of my pregnancy with you will always be the benchmark. As much as I'm not thrilled with the general experience of pregnancy, this one still makes me nostalgic for yours, for your birth, because of the amazing thing I got in the end, because of you. You are the one who made me a mother.

I know you were just stalling the other night, when you insisted on giving me ten hugs and ten kisses before you went to sleep. But it floored me, and I couldn't repress my smiles and laughing at each tiny, tingly kiss on my cheek from you.

I don't know exactly what it will be like when your brother gets here. I know I will love him, too. It's just impossible for me to imagine now that I could love anyone or anything as much as I love you. You are and always will be my girl, mine, part of me, but not me, my first baby, my best girl, the everything of my heart.

Photo by Emily Large

(Note: just pretend you read this on November 19. It will make me feel better.)