Riding in cars with boys a boy
Breaking news: I drove our car for the first time in more than FIVE WEEKS. Woohoo!
Technically, I am not supposed to drive until Sunday — the official six-week point — but I was going completely stir-crazy have been feeling great for a while now, so I took the plunge and drove for the first time yesterday.
It felt like I was 16 all over again, getting my full license and taking out my mom’s car for the first time. Total freedom!
Of course, Darling Husband and I only have the one car, so taking it meant that I had to drive him to work first. And that meant that I had to have Baby Boy up, dressed, changed, and fed — and myself washed, dressed and fed — by a certain time. Yikes!
It worked out well. We needed to leave at 7:30 a.m., and I had gotten up with Baby Boy for a feeding at 6 a.m. I was able to get both of us ready in time, and Darling Husband drove us all to his office.
It was a weird feeling when he walked through the doors and left us in the parking lot. I hadn’t driven in more than five weeks, and I had never driven with Baby Boy. Up until that point, I’d actually been sitting in the backseat with him. Couldn’t do that any longer! But what if he spit up and choked on it? I wouldn’t be able to reach him. Eeeeeeeeek.
I made sure his little mirror was adjusted perfectly, so I could see him whenever I looked in the rearview mirror. But I didn’t have time for much more worrying. He was half-awake — and waking up more every second! — so I put the pedal to the metal and drove away, so he’d go back to sleep.
I was doing it! I was driving! With a baby! Who knew?
Once I had tasted freedom, outside the four walls of our condo, I just couldn’t go back. We went to Wal-Mart on a very important mission to buy Darling Husband underwear (after I’d begged him to come up with something useful we could buy), and buy Baby Boy some Nuk soothers (my mom was not pleased with the Avent ones, and I was sick of defending them) and a rattle (surprisingly, he didn’t own one).
After Wal-Mart, we spent a couple of hours at my mom’s. Then we spent a couple of hours with Darling Husband’s mom. And then it was time to pick up Darling Husband. We hadn’t been home once, and it was brilliant! Instead we saw PEOPLE and TREES and CARS and STUFF and OMIGOD I AM SO SICK OF BEING STUCK IN THE CONDO.
Needless to say, Baby Boy and I took the car again today. We discovered that we kind of LOVE getting out together.
Sing’s the thing
Baby Boy responds really well to singing. I don’t know if it’s the rhythm or the repetition or what, but it almost always makes him stop crying or fussing.
This is great news, because (A) I love to sing, and (B) I am totally tone-deaf and a really bad singer, so I only ever used to sing when I was alone. Now I have a totally captive audience who never tells me to stop yowling. I highly recommend getting one.
I started out singing just lullabies to Baby Boy, but that got boring fast. Now I mix it up, and sing kids’ songs (I look up the lyrics online when I get stumped), pop songs, jingles, TV themes, even … uh … drinking songs!
Sample set-list:
- Bye and Bye
- Bye Bye Baby Bunting
- The Big Mac jingle (“Two all-beef patties …”)
- Mama by the Spice Girls
- Peanut Butter and Jelly
- Teddy Bear Picnic
- The Addams Family theme song
- Barney’s I Love You, You Love Me
- The Golden Girls theme song
- Part of That World from The Little Mermaid
- Enter Sandman by Metallica
- Love Story by Taylor Swift
- Tica-taca-telephone by Sharon Lois & Bram
- 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall
I suppose this wide range of musical education could pose a problem when he can speak. But hey, even the beer song encourages counting!
Our baby in review: His First Month
I can’t believe Baby Boy is a month old today! I’ve always heard people with kids say, “Oh, enjoy every moment. It goes so fast!” And you know what? It does go by freaking fast! One month ago, this baby was inside me. He’s been a person, alive and in the world and in our lives, for a month. It feels like it’s gone by in a flash, and yet it also feels like he’s been in our lives forever.
Vital stats: When Baby Boy was born, he weighed 8 lbs, 8 oz and was 21 inches long. When we left the hospital, he was 7 lbs, 15 oz (since my milk had not yet come in). Within a week of his birth, he was up to 9 lbs, 6 oz! The doctor couldn’t believe it. At his three-week appointment, he was up to 11 lbs, 5 oz! We’re SO happy that Baby Boy is so sturdy and healthy. And I can’t wait until the next appointment, when he gets weighed again, because I love seeing him get bigger and bigger. Especially because his food comes from me — such a cool feeling.
Milestones: When I lay him on my chest, he uses his arms to hold up his whole upper body and look around. During the first week or two, his head bobbed around a lot (like a drunk, Darling Husband joked). But now he holds it up very steadily. He loves to look around at everything, and his focus is so much better than it was a few weeks ago. In his fourth week, he started making little cooing sounds. It’s so cute to hear something other than a cry or a grunt!
How I felt physically: Tired with a capital T. I have spent my life needing (NEEDING) eight hours of sleep a night. I had been worried, during my pregnancy, about how I was going to survive on less sleep. It has been hard to be sleep-deprived, but I am handling it better than I expected. The first week was AWFUL, AWFUL, AWFUL in terms of no sleep. I didn’t sleep a wink the night I was in labour, and got an hour here and there for the next three nights. Brutal. But as the first month went on, I started to get more sleep (and adjust to getting less sleep than usual).
Recovering from the C-section: It was pretty uneventful. I was taking Ibuprofen and regular Tylenol in the hospital — they would have given me stronger stuff, but I didn’t feel I needed it — and didn’t feel much pain (as long as I kept on top of the doses). I took Ibuprofen for the first two weeks I was home — not because the incision hurt, but because the uterus-shrinking hurt — and then I felt fine without it. I had heard horror stories about how much you bleed in those first six weeks, but I found the flow was very light during those first two weeks — and then it was basically gone. I think breastfeeding helped to shrink my uterus quickly. Once the regular cramping stopped, the bleeding stopped. Oh, and it was painful to get in and out of bed for the first week or two — damn bending and such.
How my body looked: I was very pleasantly surprised by how much weight I dropped immediately after Baby Boy was in my arms (not my bod). I haven’t weighed myself, as we don’t own a scale, but I’m taking about changes I can see. Immediately after the C-section, I looked at my stomach. I was afraid to touch it at first, and when I did, it was sooooo squooshy. It still is, actually. Like bread dough. I certainly wasn’t a skinny-mini before getting pregnant, but my stomach had always been firm — even though it wasn’t washboard-y. Post-baby, it is MUSHY and WEIRD and DOES NOT FEEL LIKE MINE. I am grateful that although it’s soft, it’s not huge. I finally understand what other moms mean when they say, “I lost the weight, but I don’t have my pre-baby body. Things are positioned differently.” I have a pooch that is different from a young-person, too-many-orders-of-fries pooch. This pooch makes me look older somehow. I’m curious if breastfeeding is going to help me lose it, or if I will need to really work hard to get rid of it? I guess we’ll see in a couple of weeks when I am allowed to start working out.
How I felt emotionally: Oh wow. This month was absolutely, without a doubt, the best and the hardest month of my entire life. I was a complete and utter basket case off-and-on for the first week. It was the weirdest thing. I would be tucked in my hospital bed, cuddling with Baby Boy on my chest, and talking softly to him … and then burst into sobs about how perfect and soft and tiny he was. I constantly felt like my heart was going to explode out of my body. Or we would have visitors come to the room, and I’d be cheerful and chatty, opening gifts, etc. And then the second they walked out the door, I would break down again because OH, they weren’t holding him carefully! and I just wanted them to leeeeeeave so I can sleeeeeep! Poor Darling Husband, seriously. I was a crazy person. Once we got home, we had four days before Darling Husband had to return to work. I spent those four days breaking down hourly about how I couldn’t manage without him, missed him already, and Oh God, you just can’t goooooo! Once he was actually back at work, I felt a lot better. It was not as bad as I’d worked myself up to think. I started only having a couple of teary moments a day, and then they tapered off. By the end of the month, I was down to maybe one a day. Progress!
What he’s been eating: Boob juice. It has definitely been a struggle at some points, but this baby has been 100% breastfed since he was born. I mentioned in this post that we both really got the hang of it by the eighth or ninth day — pain was gone, he was latching well, etc. Since then, he has gone through two (I think) growth spurts, and OH MY GOD they are hard on a breastfeeding mama! It basically means your baby eats around the clock, until your poor boobs resemble flacid penises (in texture) and Baby screams and fusses because they are EMPTY and MOMMY, WHY NO MILKIES? I tiredly explained to Baby Boy that he needs to sleep in order for the “milkies fairies” (yes, I made that up in a sleep-deprived moment) to visit and deliver more milkies. He just cried for more, and sucked and sucked and sucked. Growth spurts = evil.
Breastfeeding in public: So far I have fed Baby Boy in the in-laws’ living room, at the park during Canada Day events, and in the car in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. I used a cover or a receiving blanket every time, and there were no awkward flashings, thank God. I definitely need more practice using the cover, because it’s hard to see what he’s doing and help him out if he comes un-latched.
Pumping/bottle-feeding: I started pumping when he was 3 1/2 weeks old, and it went really well. I’ve been averaging about two three-ounce “servings” a day, and I freeze almost all of it in little breastmilk storage bags. It felt funny at first, but definitely doesn’t hurt. It makes me feel like a cow, though. Darling Husband has given him two bottles of breastmilk so far, and he accepted them willingly. He’s been working a lot, so he hasn’t taken over any nighttime feedings yet, but it will come. I’m glad to be building a supply so that he (and others) can offer Baby Boy bottles, and I can either sleep or go somewhere (go somewhere alone — imagine that!).
What Daddy and I have been eating: We had some pizzas, chicken, a chicken pot pie, and cupcakes dropped off in the first week, by lovely friends and family. It was VERY appreciated, and I have grand plans to return the favour when our friends have babies. But after the first few days at home, it was up to us. I am VERY grateful that I stocked our deep-freeze with tons of meals — few homemade, mostly pre-made stuff from M&M Meat Shops — because I can’t IMAGINE cooking anything from scratch at this point. Seriously. We have not bought chicken or ground beef or ANY of the things we used to buy, because there is no time/energy to make anything. If it’s frozen, we’re good to go. I have been eating a lot of tiny meals and snacks, since I’m hungry often but never want to eat too much at one sitting. Darling Husband has still been making me little snacks to eat while breastfeeding, and they’ve been lifesavers.
What he’s been wearing: Sadly, not much clothing, because it’s been so hot (and I’m super-paranoid about overheating him). He spends most of his time wearing just a diaper — I’ve been wearing just a nursing bra and underwear most of the time, so we “match.” When we take him out, he wears just a onesie (sometimes socks), and we drape a light receiving blanket over his legs if there’s air conditioning. Once he wore light pants and a T-shirt. And you know what? He’s basically outgrown all of his 0-3 month stuff! I packed most of it up this morning, except for a few items, and dug out the 3-6 month stuff. It’s disappointing, because he had so many cute little outfits, but his comfort is the most important thing.
How we’ve been sleeping: There wasn’t really much rhyme or reason in the first three weeks, honestly. We diligently wrote it all down: when he slept, when he nursed, how many poo and pee diapers, etc. But we didn’t see a pattern. He slept in two-hour chunks, sometimes one-hour chunks, and rarely three-hour chunks. When he hit the three-week mark, however, we saw a definite pattern: when we put him down at night, he will sleep for 3-3 1/2 hours — that’s his long stretch. Then for the rest of the night, he feeds for an hour, sleeps for two, feeds for an hour, sleeps for one, etc. During the day, he always takes an afternoon nap. In the first few weeks, he was taking a morning one as well, but lately it’s just been the one. I’m slowly adjusting to sleeping during the day, when he sleeps, but it’s hard: I’ve never been a napper, especially when sun is streaming in the windows.
Where we’ve been going: Because of my C-section, I can’t technically drive until Baby Boy is six weeks old (boo). Darling Husband works a lot, but when he’s home, he takes us places. We have gone for ice cream twice. We’ve been to three out of our four local malls. We’ve walked along the boardwalk. We went to the grocery store. I honestly don’t care WHERE we go, because I am so happy to get out of the condo. I have never been so happy in my life to even just ride in a car. I’m like a dog!
Diapering: We used disposables for the first 18 days of Baby Boy’s life, because we’d gotten a few packages as gifts. When the littlest size ran out, I happily pulled out the cloth diapers and started using them. We’re using the BumGenius one-size all-in-ones and the BumGenius one-size pocket diapers, and they’ve been much easier than I expected. So far I prefer the all-in-ones (with the snaps) because you literally just throw them in the pail, throw them in the washer/dryer, and then toss them in the drawer. The pocket diapers require removing the pad, attaching the velcro to the laundry tabs, and then re-stuffing the diaper when it’s clean and dry — not a lot of work, but definitely more work. As I mentioned before, we have 16 BumGenius diapers and five Kushies diapers. So far, we have not touched the Kushies (I just don’t wanna), because I like the BG so much. I wash a load of diapers pretty much every day — it depends on what time I washed them the day before. I wait until there are three left in the drawer, and throw the remaining 12 in the wash (since he’s wearing one). I thought it might be annoying to do a daily load of diapers, but surprisingly, it hasn’t been. It gives me a little feeling of satisfaction to know that every time I wash and re-use them, I’m not using (read: BUYING) disposables.
State of the house: Not too bad. In the first week at home, I found it extremely hard not to run around cleaning everything up myself. Darling Husband simply doesn’t do things as quickly as I do, and even though I tried not to let it, it BUGS ME. My mom and Little Sis helped a lot during the second week, and now between me and Darling Husband, we are running the dishwasher, cleaning off the counters, doing laundry, tidying up, etc. I’m getting good at loading the washer and dryer with one hand, while holding Baby Boy.
Things that surprised me: How totally and completely my everyday life changed, on every single level. I know, stupid me — I should have known, right? But I honestly thought I would have a bit more time to, like, do things. Like check my e-mail! And blog! And go to the bathroom! I knew he would take up tons of time and energy, but I underestimated the amount of time he would sleep — and didn’t really think I would need to sleep every time he was, but … I do. It was very rough in those first week at home to really see that, Wow, I have not checked my e-mail in days. I haven’t been outside in almost a week. Going to the bathroom requires planning ahead! WTF? Things started feeling a bit more normal after the second week, and now I am managing to sneak in a blog here and there. But for those first two weeks? I was kind of TERRIFIED at my new life, and how much I missed feeling normal.
Things that grossed me out: Baby Boy spits up about once a day, and it is A LOT. Like a huge gush of warm liquid with white bits in it (milk curds). It soaks my bra, my underwear, the couch, him, etc. I am getting used to it, but it still grosses me out to be covered in vomit — especially when the food that made the vomit came from my body. It’s like a gross cycle. Oh, and in other grossness news, he peed on me twice — not while being changed, but up through the front of his diaper, when the velcro wasn’t tight enough. Ew.
Things that have made me melt: When he’s crying in his bassinet with his arms stretched out, and he stops when I pick him up. When he’s fussing and I pull him to my boob, and he instantly relaxes and clutches it with his tiny hands. When he lies in my arms and looks up at me, totally peaceful. When he is grunting and thrashing in his swaddle blanket, trying to escape like a little Houdini, and he notices me and makes a funny face. Oh, this boy.
How to make a really dumb parenting mistake
- Wake up in the middle of the night
- Hear Baby fuss in his bassinet
- Jump out of bed
- Run to the bathroom
- Pee, wash face, moisturize, brush teeth
- Think you’re being proactive, preparing for the feeding that is about to begin
- Return to the bedroom
- See that Baby is sound asleep again
- Lie in bed and wait for him to stir
- Feel positive he’s going to wake up at any second
- Hear him stir — check bassinet and see he’s still sleeping
- Feel supremely annoyed when he wakes up 45 minutes later
- Hate yourself because you could have slept for those 45 minutes
- Vow never to “predict” when your baby will wake up again
- Promise yourself you will not get out of bed until he is actually crying
My Birth Story: Part 4
Missed Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 of my birth story? Check them out before reading this final chapter!
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Sunday, 11:32 a.m. Pretty Black Doctor Barbie was standing in front of me with a clipboard, saying something about the risks involved and that I will need to sign the paper. I grabbed the pen and scrawled the first half of my first name and the first few letters of my last name. Good enough. Let’s go!
Sunday, 11:35 a.m. The nurse gave me a little plastic cup of milky-looking stuff. “It’s an antacid,” she told me. “It tastes terrible, so just shoot it!” Um, I have never “shot” anything in my life. I have a bad gag reflux. I gulped it down in a few sips. She was right — it was terrible. Like vomit-y tequila. I still have no idea why I needed to take an antacid before the C-section. Anyone know?
Sunday, 11:38 a.m. Someone handed Darling Husband a set of scrubs, and he was putting them on. It was spooky to see him all dressed for surgery — my surgery!
Sunday, 11:39 a.m. I didn’t get scrubs, as I was already in a hospital gown. I had to wear a stupid cap thing, though. The nurse struggled to get it over my hair.
Sunday, 11:40 a.m. The nurse disconnected all of my lovely IV drugs. The pain was still unbearable, so I couldn’t believe I was actually getting taken off my drugs. When I protested, the nurse explained that I’d get drugs again once I was in the operating room.
Sunday, 11:41 a.m. I was wheeled out of my delivery room, into the hallway. I was still writhing with the pain and whimpering, but very happy to be getting down to business and finally getting the baby out.
Sunday, 11:43 a.m. I was wheeled into the operating room, and I could see the bright lights in the ceiling. “It looks just like an operating room on TV,” I remember thinking. There were a ton of doctors and nurses in there, but it was hard to focus on them. I knew several of the doctors were from the neonatal team, to attend to Baby Boy as soon as he came out, so he wouldn’t inhale the meconium.
Sunday, 11:44 a.m. There was a lot of commotion all around me. Not in a OMG-this-is-a-total-emergency way, but just in a quick, let’s-get-this-done way. I was still crying about the pain at this point, so they were probably eager to get me to stop.
Sunday, 11:45 a.m. I was moved over onto a skinnier bed. It had special jut-out pieces near the top, so that my arms were stretched out on either side of me — exactly like Jesus on the cross, actually. They opened my hospital gown to place little suction-cups on my chest, and put heated blankets on my arms.
Sunday, 11:46 a.m. Darling Husband was sitting on a stool right next to my left shoulder. He held my hand and looked worried. Several doctors and nurses repeatedly asked him if he had a camera, and he kept saying that yes, he did. There was an anesthesiologist just over my right shoulder, who kept giving me drugs. Every time he did, I felt a cool gush near that shoulder, and I would strain to look up at him as if to say, “I felt that … should I be feeling that? Just want to make sure you see that I FEEL THAT.”
Sunday, 11:47 a.m. The anesthesiologist started giving me experimental pokes to see if I could feel things. “Can you feel this?” “No.” “Can you feel this?” “No.” “Can you feel this?” “Yup.” “You can?” “Yup. I can move my whole leg, see?” Apparently the resident who did the epidural screwed it up. No wonder I was having excruciating pain on my right side — the damn thing was only working on the LEFT!
Sunday, 11:48 a.m. “Flip her! Flip her!” The anesthesiologist sounded pissy that it had been screwed up. They flipped me over to my left side, and he played around with it until it was working, and I couldn’t feel anything on either side. Very annoying, as it made me wonder how much EASIER labour would have been if I’d been properly drugged.
Sunday, 11:49 a.m. “I’m going to throw up,” I said suddenly. Someone held out a little plastic thing and told me to turn my head to the side. I did, and miraculously was able to throw up while lying down — something I would have assumed not possible. I threw up eight times in a row, very quickly, and then felt fine. Darling Husband (who was a bit splashed in the process, poor guy) later told me he suspects I threw up because of the tequila-tasting “shot” I had to take before the surgery.
Sunday, 11:52 a.m. There was a sheet blocking my view of what was about to happen (thank God), but Darling Husband saw a nurse pressing on my belly to get an idea of the baby’s size. “Wow, this baby’s huge!” she commented. “I can feel him here, and here, and up here and down here. He’s definitely huge.” I wondered if he was actually going to be 11 pounds or something. I didn’t mind, though, because I knew I wasn’t pushing him out!
Sunday, 11:53 a.m. Sometime around now, I think, the actual C-section started. I just remember feeling very comfortable. No pain. No crying. Nice toasty blankets on my arms. It was hard to stay awake, actually, because I was so comfy-cozy. I smiled at Darling Husband reassuringly, and told him I felt fine. I was fine. I was finally fine! I did tell him (three times) to please not look at the surgery, though. It would have been horrible if he’d passed out from the blood and guts and everything.
Sunday, 11:54 a.m. I couldn’t see any doctors or nurses because of the sheet. Suddenly I remembered Cute Medical Student, and wondered if he was here. “Luke!” I called out frantically. “Luke, are you here?” “I’m right here!” he answered. I relaxed. “I know Luke,” I told no one in particular. “I was the first real person he ever did a fetal heartbeat on, and a fundal height.” Darling Husband swears I sounded high as a kite during this little tribute, but I remember it as being very genuine! I wonder if Luke will fondly mention me in his med school classes? I acted like he was the most renowned surgeon in the land.
Sunday, 11:59 a.m. They had a nice big digital clock on the wall, and I could see it easily from my skinny bed. At this point, I looked at the clock and wondered if the baby was almost out. Would he be born in the morning, or the afternoon?
Sunday, 12:00 p.m. Guess he was going to be an afternoon baby! I started to wonder if he would be born at 12:13, like I was (except I was born at 12:13 a.m.). I considered mentioning this to the doctors, in case they could time it that way, and then decided I didn’t really care. And I definitely didn’t want to distract anyone! Who knew what organs they were handling?
Sunday, 12:07 p.m. “You’re going to feel some pressure,” someone told me. I just nodded or smiled or maybe did nothing. So cozy. So sleepy. So comfortably, blissfully pain-free. It just felt like someone gently pressing on my belly. No biggie!
Sunday, 12:09 p.m. Crying! There was crying! He was here! It didn’t seem especially dramatic, like on TV. No one shouted, “It’s a boy,” because they already knew that we knew. I don’t remember what anyone said. I just remember hearing him cry. “Is he OK?” I kept asking, as tears rolled down my face. “That doesn’t sound like a healthy cry!” I don’t think anyone answered me, but they were calling Darling Husband over to take photos, so I relaxed.
Sunday, 12:10 p.m. “Did you have a lot of heartburn?” a doctor or a nurse called over to me. “‘Cause he’s got lots of hair!” Seriously??? Medical professionals actually believe that crap? Or were they joking? Hmm.
Sunday, 12:11 p.m. I could hear my baby crying, but I couldn’t see him. Darling Husband was also hidden from view. They let him cut the cord — something I had hoped he could do, but hadn’t expected because of the C-section — and he took tons of photos. In them, Baby Boy is naked on the scale, and then bundled up in blankets like a teeny burrito.
Sunday, 12:12 p.m. Darling Husband came back into view, holding out our perfect little son. All I could see was his little face, with tufts of brown hair peeking out from the blanket. Hair that was not as dark as mine, but not as light as Darling Husband’s — the perfect mix of both of us. He had blue-grey eyes, and the same little button nose I recognized from the 3D ultrasound. Darling Husband’s nose. He was perfect.
Sunday, 12:13 p.m. I couldn’t move, and I was lying flat on my back, but I wanted him as close as possible. He was still crying a little.
I had Darling Husband hold him over my chest, so that his tiny face was right in front of mine. I could strain forward and brush my lips against his cheek, and kiss it, but that was it. I knew that he would recognize my voice, so I talked to him.
I told him how happy I was that he was here. I told him how happy I was that he was early, and went on a tangent about how punctuality is very important to Mommy, and it meant a lot to me that he was early.
His cries faded away as I babbled and kissed his velvety little cheek again and again. After nine long months — and eight months of wishing and praying and dreaming before that — he was finally here …
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