A new kind of crazy

Something happens to your brain when there is a new baby. It's not just me, either-- even Mike is exhibiting signs of the crazy. Mike is usually the practical, levelheaded one in our relationship, but it does feel good to not be alone in this. I think we are obsessed with our child. The behavior we are exhibiting is, quite frankly... creepy.

We have, of course, been photographing her every move. Seeing as how she is a newborn and sleeps 18 hours a day, however, she hasn't got enough "moves" to keep us properly occupied, so we've also been photographing her every non-move. Mike has even taken it a step further. He has been videoing her every non-move. I am serious-- we have video of her that might as well be still photos.

Exhibit A:




Enthralling, no?

This isn't the only creepy stalkerish behavior we are exhibiting. We mark her every first on a Baby's First Year calendar that hangs in her bedroom. When I say "every first", I mean every first. I'm sure teenaged Bumble will be very interested someday in celebrating the anniversary of her first poop.

We've also been doing the typical new parent thing and checking to make sure she is still breathing three or twelve times a day when she is suspiciously quiet. I, for one, do not consider this behavior necessarily crazy. Not when there is something in this cruel, unpredictable life called Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Just what in the hell? I find the very idea highly upsetting.

We're having lots of fun with her, though. I highly recommend this baby thing even if it does make you crazy.

If only it was a cool lightning bolt shape...

One week postpartum and the most popular phrase out of my mouth (second only to "She is so dang CUTE!") has been "OW! My scar!" I know it's not technically a scar yet, but scar is much shorter and packs more punch than "c-section incision site." Whenever I say it, I feel like Harry Potter. I suppose that makes Dr. Singer (yeah, Singer like the sewing machine company) my personal Lord Voldemort since he's the one who gave me the scar.

I imagine that when my scar twinges, Dr. Singer is indulging in a restful nap. Perhaps he is enjoying a quiet evening at home, lounging in an easy chair with a glass of red wine and a good book. Or maybe he is out on the town, playing darts or going bowling with a bunch of his buddies. Whatever he is doing, it is not what I am doing... contemplating the timing issues involved with nursing while on painkillers.


It's okay though. When my scar hurts the most, I know that Dr. Singer is just angry that I have the one thing he can never have.


This dang cute baby.


PS- Want to see my scar? Taken today, at 1 week PP. Excuse the weird angle, I still have a bit of a pot belly.

The Bumble of Joy

After my last entry, my water broke. The short story is that my labor never started after the water broke. It didn't start on its own and it didn't start with 4 induction attempts. I spent days hooked up to monitors, watching for signs that some induction method or another was going to make things pick up, but it never happened. After my membranes had been ruptured for over 2 days, my midwife and the doctors got too antsy about the possibility of infection and the babbit was born on Pi Day, March 14th via c-section at 7:44 pm. She weighed 6 lbs, 12 oz and was 20 inches long. And she is fantastic! Clean-shaven, too.



Hello Bumble Bee!


I was worried that the c-section would compromise the nursing relationship, but the Bumble latches like a champ. I am weirdly proud of her for this, but give me a break-- it's pretty much the only thing she does semi-consciously.

During my pregnancy I read lots about breastfeeding and how there is this amazing, loving bond that forms between the mother and her baby when they look into each other's eyes during nursing sessions. We've only been at this for a few days now, but if I happen to catch Bumble's eye while she is nursing, she immediately diverts her gaze, pops off, and tries to pretend like she wasn't just stealing my milk. This makes me laugh so hard, it feels like my c-section incision is about to split. She uses my distraction to pop back on and continue her thieving. We will have to find other things to bond over, I guess.

Heavy on photos

We got a new digital camera yesterday! Just in time (hopefully.)

Here is the current state of things...

38 weeks pregnant and very tired:



Chock full of big baby:



Nursery, cluttered with baby supplies










Almost ready. Might never actually be ready because am getting very, very tired.

Hotel birth

I saw a different midwife than I normally do yesterday. I guess you could call her the boss of the birth center. She told me my test results, noted that my blood pressure was amazingly consistent, and then asked me where I planned on having the baby. I said, "Oh, here. At the hospital." She said I sounded disappointed, and I explained that I had hoped to have the baby at the birth center, but I had been risked out. She furrowed her brow and said, "Well, what about a homebirth? Would you like that?"

I was surprised by the offer. After all, if I had been risked out of a birth center birth, it seemed logical that I would be risked out of a homebirth. And I am 38 weeks pregnant! It seems a little late to change the game plan. I told her that I thought my apartment was too small and that my neighbors might be disturbed by the ruckus. She laughed at me for using the word "ruckus" and then she surprised me again. "What about giving birth at a hotel?"

I checked her expression for some sign that she was joking, but she was very serious. She told me that she had recently delivered a baby at a very nice hotel nearby. The father checked the couple in while the mother labored out of sight, then they all met in the 5 star suite. The suite had a full kitchen, furniture and a large luxurious bathroom complete with jacuzzi tub. There was a need for discretion, of course, since the hotel staff might freak out and call for an ambulance if they found out what was going on, but overall, she found the whole experience very pleasant.

I politely declined. I just couldn't stop thinking about those Dateline specials that reveal how dirty hotels really are under a black light. And then imagine if the Dateline crew ever checked out that hotel suite where the woman gave birth. They'd probably think there had been a gruesome murder. I think I'll just stick to the hospital birth plan. It's no 5 star hotel, but I have greater faith in the cleaning staff.

Something positive

By far the best thing about being pregnant is that come your ninth month, you have all the bright and happy powers of Unico. Everyone smiles at you. Big, sappy, gooey smiles of joy. These are the same people who will be glaring a month later when the baby starts fussing in public, I know, but I am enjoying it now. The other day I was waiting to cross the road so that I could mail some letters and traffic stopped just so I could pass. I was jaywalking! I was a slow, waddly jaywalker and the same Philadelphians who regularly get angry and honk and yell at the slightest interruption in their morning commute stopped and watched me walk across the street. I felt a little wary, like it might be a trick, but when I looked at the faces of all the drivers they were smiling. Big, sappy, gooey smiles of joy.

Finally! Some magical powers!

Why, thank you!

What passes for a decent compliment these days: "You don't look pregnant at all from behind!" It's good to know I didn't get butt-pregnant.


Just checking in. Baby still firmly settled in womb, despite the 5 miles of walking Mike and I did yesterday.

We have a code chin

There's this trick I learned a few months before I stopped eating meat. I was sad to give up eating meat because the trick is neat, but I guess I liked ol' Mike better than steak, so I stopped. Anyway, the trick is to test the done-ness of meat. You make an OK sign with one hand, then turn your hand so that you can see your palm. Then take the thumb of your other hand and press it into the flesh of your palm at the thumb. That's what meat feels like when meat is rare. Switch out your pointer finger for your middle finger and that's what meat feels like when it is medium-rare. Ring finger is medium and pinky is well-done. Works every time and you don't have to keep cutting into the meat to check its level of done-ness.

I was sad to not be able to use this little bit of knowledge anymore. I like being able to use my body as a gauge for things. It makes me feel all witchy and wise. Thus, I was thrilled to discover that I could measure the seriousness of contractions by comparing the hardness of my belly to areas of my face. I asked my midwife, and she said that it is true. When you are not contracting, your belly feels like pushing into the tip of your nose. When you have a contraction, it feels like pushing into your chin. When you have a hardcore for-serious contraction, your belly feels as hard as pushing into your forehead.

Okay, so that one isn't as useful or practical. But it is still neat to learn. So far I have only had chin-level contractions. I will let you know when we go up to code forehead.

It is March. Where is MY baby?

(Just a note-- the Breathe Right strips worked, so Mike can sleep peacefully now! Also, I got my results back and am negative for group b strep, which means no IV during labor! Hooray!)

I joined an online due date community when I first got pregnant and it has been a fun and useful resource along the way. Until now. Because now it is March and March is when the baby is supposed to come. This is the most torturous month (not including the first trimester, which was its own unique torture.) I'm achy, I'm tired, and it feels like nothing is happening and I'm going to continue to be pregnant for forever and ever and ever and ever. And that's why it's annoying to suddenly be bombarded with an onslaught of birth announcements 4 days into the month.

"Just a quick announcement! Baby was born last night-- a month early!! Baby weighed 8 pounds and everyone is doing well. Life is awesome!"

There are seriously like 6 posts in a row exactly like that.



I should have joined the April due date club.

stupider and stupider

I haven't exactly had it all together since I got pregnant. It's a fact (it is!) that pregnancy hormones cause your brain to go a little soft, so I accepted the forgetfulness and spaciness as one more pregnancy symptom. Lately, however, it's gotten so bad that I feel I may be a danger to myself and/or others.

I just discovered that those maternity jeans I have been wearing for months-- the ones that keep falling down repeatedly throughout the day despite supposedly being the right size?-- have an adjustable waistband hidden on the inside.

I went to the grocery store by the hospital after my midwife's appointment to pick up something easy for dinner and settled on a frozen lasagna. When I got home, I saw that it was a meat-lover's lasagna and wanted to cry.

The other night I woke up to get a glass of water and when I poured it into a glass, I freaked out. I kept crying, "Mike, why isn't the water clear? Why isn't the water clear, Mike? What happened to the water?" Mike came to investigate and then gently informed me that I had poured the water into the glass of milk I hadn't quite finished at dinner.

I also seem to have absolutely no concept of my new dimensions. I am constantly bumping my enormous new belly into pots and pans while cooking, hitting it with doors I am trying to close, and running into corners with it when I turn around.

I miss my brain. I hope it comes back soon.


Newest pregnancy development? Constant snoring. How ladylike! I googled "how to stop snoring" and it seems the most effective way is to lose 30 pounds. I can do that! Just give me a few weeks. In the meantime, I picked up some Breathe-Right strips. Poor Mike. I hope they work!