Dano and I have seemed to fall into these strange family traditions. His family appears to have a lot of them. They always say "I love you" before getting off the phone (you never know when it's going to be the last time you get to say it, they say), they say "Don't let the bedbugs bite your bunions" before bed (no idea why), they listen to and sing Alice's Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie every Thanksgiving. My family didn't have many, so, being a creature who thrives on structure and pattern, I have happily become the matriarch of a family of traditions (yet, not a traditional family).
Any morning we're both free, we have coffee together. He calls me Aranel (Elvish for princess). We watch hockey games together as a family. We eat meals together whenever we're not at work (including Lilah, who mostly observes the eating, but sometimes gets tiny licks of whatever I'm eating). We watch Gilmore Girls together every morning, and most afternoons we watch Ellen. I sing her Bandit Queen by Colin Meloy countless times a day. It's her favorite lullaby.
Every night, Lilah gets put in her little blue bathtub in the bottom of the shower with whoever is showering that night (we alternate nights) and kicks and splashes, screams when she is removed from her tub, gets slathered with lotion, sprinkled with powder, and fed a bedtime snack. While she's eating from one breast, Dano reads one of her books from her room (there are a few he won't read that I have to read to her when he's at work, since he is of the opinion all children's books need to rhyme). Lately, he's favored The Zax, The Sneeches, or What Was I Scared Of? all by Dr. Seuss and handily located in Lilah's Hatful of Seuss anthology. He also frequently reads Blueberry Girl by Neil Gaiman, or Barnyard Dance by Sandra Boynton (although when it gets to the word "promenade", we argue over pronunciation before he can continue, regardless of dictionary.com confirming my correctness on the matter). When she burps and switches breasts, Dano switches to a great work of literature, currently Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. I love listening to him read aloud, because his voice has just the right quality of expressiveness and character without being overdone. He reads at just the right pace and hardly ever stumbles over words, unlike myself. Lilah listens intently with wide eyes, and when she's finished and burped, sits on my knees and stares at him, sometimes adding her own commentary on the story, sometimes smiling appropriately when we laugh or smile at a funny part. When she starts getting either drowsy or grouchy, I swaddle her, kiss her, tell her I love her, and put her in her basket with her pacifier. She's out within seconds.
When Dano and I say goodnight, it's always the same. Dano starts it.
"I love you big as the universe."
"Love you big as a star."
"Be blessed with good dreams, restful sleep, and good Lilah."
"Be blessed with good dreams, restful sleep, and good Soupin-cat." (This part reflecting our respective night-time responsibilities - Lilah for me, and throwing things at the cat if she's loud for Dano).
"Don't let the hedgehogs fly a kite."
"Don't let the hedgehogs catch fireflies." (The activity of the hedgehogs varies night to night, and that was started because I thought talking about bedbugs biting bunions was odd, and the first time Dano said it to me, I thought he said hedgehogs, not bedbugs).
"Goodnight, beautiful."
"Goodnight, love."
I love our traditions, and Lilah seems to thrive on them. I would be so blessed if she is able to look back with fondness at them and maybe even pass some on to her future family.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
2 months
My baby is more than 2 months old. When I look at photos of her when she was brand new and helpless, she seems like a completely different baby. Now, she's a fun, interactive ball of energy with "smiles and crocodile-iles" as Dano says. I asked him what it means, and he wasn't sure. I figured since he made it up, he should know. I figured wrong, apparently.
Lilah's 2 month appointment was yesterday. She weighed 11lbs, 4oz. That's 3 pounds and an ounce in 2 months, and more than an ounce a day! She's 23 inches now, 3 more than last time. She charmed all the nurses and Dr. Hatfield. She more than met all her milestones, and she's in the 50th percentile for height, and 55th for weight. She's just a perfect little baby. Dr. Hatfield also explained a possible cause for Lilah's habit of throwing her head back and howling for a few minutes, completely unprovoked. She suspected a little bit of reflux - a little acid flaring up now and then, burning her throat. She said it will go away as her muscles mature.
My poor baby also got 4 shots. She was supposed to have 5, but we opted out of pertussis because of the risk of seizures later in life. It's part of the DTaP series, so she's still getting diphtheria and tetanus, but not until her next appointment. I felt like an absolute traitor holding her leg while the nurse stuck her. I watched her little face (staring at me trustingly) go from her normal expression of pleasantly amused to concerned to a scream so hard nothing came out for a few seconds. Then we did it 3 more times. I still tear up thinking about it. When the nurse was finished, she told me to take as much time as we needed calming down (she probably figured I needed just as much time as my daughter did), and to try feeding her. Lilah threw her arms around my neck and cried, and I cried with her, and told her I was sorry, and it was all over. She would eat for a few minutes, then scream when she tried to frog-kick her legs like she usually does. She wasn't too hard to console, but even today she's not my happy, cheerful baby. She's unusually morose and she cries for no reason. That's not my baby. She barely cries when something's wrong, let alone for no reason.
I've noticed a strange thing about my parenting. My guilt level is pretty high. I've heard all mothers feel guilt about odd things, but mine seems unusually high. Most likely I'm just crazy, but sometimes I think of all strong women who have come before us, the wonderful mothers who have spent their entire lives empowering their daughters to become great women and in turn, wonderful mothers themselves. Sometimes I feel like I'm doing penance for the women in my family. I feel ashamed of the bloodline I came from, especially because of the great women in my life now. Between my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, aunts, cousins, and friends, I have chosen to surround myself with women who are examples of strong, godly females and mothers. It's not feeling like I fall short of them. I *know* I'm capable of greatness, that I'm strong and empowered to do my job as a mother, regardless of the questionable stock I come from. Through some miracle, the crazy skipped a generation. I love my daughter and dedicated the next score of years to be her mother. To me, that doesn't just mean someone to feed, clothe, and educate her. There's more to motherhood than keeping your offspring alive. You can do the same thing with a goldfish, and that's no impressive feat. To me, motherhood means being her confidante when she wants, and not taking it personally when she likes her friends better. It means knowing someone else and I can say the exact same thing to her, and she'll look at me like I'm crazy when I say it, but it will be gospel coming from anyone else. It means biting my tongue when she "loves" a boy in school, listening to how great he is, and letting her cry the following week when it all falls apart. It means constant love, support, and equipping her for the greatness that's sure to follow my beautiful baby wherever she goes. I owe it to Gaiman's "Ladies of light, Ladies of darkness, and Ladies of never-you-mind. This is a prayer for a Blueberry Girl. First may you Ladies be kind...Help her to help herself. Help her to stand. Help her to lose and to find. Teach her we're only as big as our dreams. Show her that fortune is blind. Truth is a thing she must find for herself, precious and rare as a pearl. Give her all these, and a little bit more - gifts for a Blueberry Girl."
Lilah's 2 month appointment was yesterday. She weighed 11lbs, 4oz. That's 3 pounds and an ounce in 2 months, and more than an ounce a day! She's 23 inches now, 3 more than last time. She charmed all the nurses and Dr. Hatfield. She more than met all her milestones, and she's in the 50th percentile for height, and 55th for weight. She's just a perfect little baby. Dr. Hatfield also explained a possible cause for Lilah's habit of throwing her head back and howling for a few minutes, completely unprovoked. She suspected a little bit of reflux - a little acid flaring up now and then, burning her throat. She said it will go away as her muscles mature.
My poor baby also got 4 shots. She was supposed to have 5, but we opted out of pertussis because of the risk of seizures later in life. It's part of the DTaP series, so she's still getting diphtheria and tetanus, but not until her next appointment. I felt like an absolute traitor holding her leg while the nurse stuck her. I watched her little face (staring at me trustingly) go from her normal expression of pleasantly amused to concerned to a scream so hard nothing came out for a few seconds. Then we did it 3 more times. I still tear up thinking about it. When the nurse was finished, she told me to take as much time as we needed calming down (she probably figured I needed just as much time as my daughter did), and to try feeding her. Lilah threw her arms around my neck and cried, and I cried with her, and told her I was sorry, and it was all over. She would eat for a few minutes, then scream when she tried to frog-kick her legs like she usually does. She wasn't too hard to console, but even today she's not my happy, cheerful baby. She's unusually morose and she cries for no reason. That's not my baby. She barely cries when something's wrong, let alone for no reason.
I've noticed a strange thing about my parenting. My guilt level is pretty high. I've heard all mothers feel guilt about odd things, but mine seems unusually high. Most likely I'm just crazy, but sometimes I think of all strong women who have come before us, the wonderful mothers who have spent their entire lives empowering their daughters to become great women and in turn, wonderful mothers themselves. Sometimes I feel like I'm doing penance for the women in my family. I feel ashamed of the bloodline I came from, especially because of the great women in my life now. Between my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, aunts, cousins, and friends, I have chosen to surround myself with women who are examples of strong, godly females and mothers. It's not feeling like I fall short of them. I *know* I'm capable of greatness, that I'm strong and empowered to do my job as a mother, regardless of the questionable stock I come from. Through some miracle, the crazy skipped a generation. I love my daughter and dedicated the next score of years to be her mother. To me, that doesn't just mean someone to feed, clothe, and educate her. There's more to motherhood than keeping your offspring alive. You can do the same thing with a goldfish, and that's no impressive feat. To me, motherhood means being her confidante when she wants, and not taking it personally when she likes her friends better. It means knowing someone else and I can say the exact same thing to her, and she'll look at me like I'm crazy when I say it, but it will be gospel coming from anyone else. It means biting my tongue when she "loves" a boy in school, listening to how great he is, and letting her cry the following week when it all falls apart. It means constant love, support, and equipping her for the greatness that's sure to follow my beautiful baby wherever she goes. I owe it to Gaiman's "Ladies of light, Ladies of darkness, and Ladies of never-you-mind. This is a prayer for a Blueberry Girl. First may you Ladies be kind...Help her to help herself. Help her to stand. Help her to lose and to find. Teach her we're only as big as our dreams. Show her that fortune is blind. Truth is a thing she must find for herself, precious and rare as a pearl. Give her all these, and a little bit more - gifts for a Blueberry Girl."
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The most anxious day of my life as a mother.
Last night, I went back to work for the first time. I had everything arranged perfectly. Lilah would stay with "Grandpaman" (the name for Dano's dad started by the very first grandchild, Zedd. It stuck) from 2:30 to 9. Dano would pick her up on the way home from work, and have her from 9 to 11:15, where he would pick me up from work (the Saturn is still in need of some TLC and neither of us have the time currently, so we're down to one vehicle). I was fine most of Tuesday. I packed, unpacked, and repacked her bag with anything I thought she might need. I had 12 ounces of milk pumped, which should have been enough to leave 3 ounces left over. I decided I would just brace myself and be brave.
1:45 rolled around. I was talking to Dano online. I fell apart. "What if she needs me and wonders why I don't come? What if she runs out of milk? What if she's miserable for 9 straight hours?" Dano assured me she would have a good time, and if she ran out of milk somehow, I only worked 3 miles away and would be pumping on my breaks.
Fears about my child's well-being quelled, I moved on to fears about my job, like any reasonable person would do. "What if I forgot how to be a nurse? What if *gasp* State comes to do their survey and follows ME?" Dano said nursing was probably like riding a bike, and my supervisors would never let State follow me on my first day back.
So I went to work, after holding a sleeping Lilah and crying, and watching Larry drive her away while biting my quivering lip. At first, my head was in a complete fog. I kept having to have the off-going nurse giving report repeat things. I forgot who my diabetics were, who had MRSA, who was mobile, and who had died. When I met with my staff (my facility has all nurses meet with their staff before a shift, which I really like), I gave them report, and reminded them that they knew the floor better than I did at this point. I believe my parting words with them were, "If you see me doing something stupid, or not doing something I should, cut me a little slack and tell me. If I take my 15 minute breaks (I usually only take my 30 minute lunch, since the short breaks are for smokers), it's because I'm breastfeeding and need to pump. If you find me in the linen closet crying, it's because this is the first time I've left Lilah for more than a couple hours. Just grab what you need and carry on."
All in all, the night went pretty well. Some of my residents remembered I had been pregnant ("You're not as fat as you used to be! Did you have that baby?"). Some did not ("You look different." "I'm not pregnant anymore." "No, your hair's longer. Honey, you people are always getting pregnant. I can't keep them all straight anymore."). My med pass took about 8 years to complete because so much had changed, and I was lucky enough to acquire yet another PEG tube feeder, and I had 3 colostomy bags explode or be exploded by their owners, but overall it was good. I did have a man who had a severe stroke in the morning and was rapidly dying all night, but it was his time and he was courteous enough not to pass away until midnight shift came on to relieve me. I was so busy I only had time to look longingly at the linen closet from time to time when I got sad about Lilah, but it could have been much worse. I even conned one of my more agreeable residents into watching the season finale of NCIS so I could pop in to see how it ended. I thanked her, and she said, "Oh honey, don't worry about it. I love these actioned-packed thriller shows, with gun-fighting and explosions. Keeps me young." My staff and coworkers asked for pictures and cooed and awwed accordingly. All in all, I had forgotten how cute my residents are, how competent my staff is, and how much I enjoy doing what I do. It was a good time.
Toward the end of the night, the following pictures were texted to me.
Lilah and her daddy were obviously having a blast watching the Wings win, and texting me the score. Right before they picked me up, I got this one.
She was sleepy and content. I made it, and she obviously hadn't missed me nearly as much as I missed her. That''s exactly how it should be.
1:45 rolled around. I was talking to Dano online. I fell apart. "What if she needs me and wonders why I don't come? What if she runs out of milk? What if she's miserable for 9 straight hours?" Dano assured me she would have a good time, and if she ran out of milk somehow, I only worked 3 miles away and would be pumping on my breaks.
Fears about my child's well-being quelled, I moved on to fears about my job, like any reasonable person would do. "What if I forgot how to be a nurse? What if *gasp* State comes to do their survey and follows ME?" Dano said nursing was probably like riding a bike, and my supervisors would never let State follow me on my first day back.
So I went to work, after holding a sleeping Lilah and crying, and watching Larry drive her away while biting my quivering lip. At first, my head was in a complete fog. I kept having to have the off-going nurse giving report repeat things. I forgot who my diabetics were, who had MRSA, who was mobile, and who had died. When I met with my staff (my facility has all nurses meet with their staff before a shift, which I really like), I gave them report, and reminded them that they knew the floor better than I did at this point. I believe my parting words with them were, "If you see me doing something stupid, or not doing something I should, cut me a little slack and tell me. If I take my 15 minute breaks (I usually only take my 30 minute lunch, since the short breaks are for smokers), it's because I'm breastfeeding and need to pump. If you find me in the linen closet crying, it's because this is the first time I've left Lilah for more than a couple hours. Just grab what you need and carry on."
All in all, the night went pretty well. Some of my residents remembered I had been pregnant ("You're not as fat as you used to be! Did you have that baby?"). Some did not ("You look different." "I'm not pregnant anymore." "No, your hair's longer. Honey, you people are always getting pregnant. I can't keep them all straight anymore."). My med pass took about 8 years to complete because so much had changed, and I was lucky enough to acquire yet another PEG tube feeder, and I had 3 colostomy bags explode or be exploded by their owners, but overall it was good. I did have a man who had a severe stroke in the morning and was rapidly dying all night, but it was his time and he was courteous enough not to pass away until midnight shift came on to relieve me. I was so busy I only had time to look longingly at the linen closet from time to time when I got sad about Lilah, but it could have been much worse. I even conned one of my more agreeable residents into watching the season finale of NCIS so I could pop in to see how it ended. I thanked her, and she said, "Oh honey, don't worry about it. I love these actioned-packed thriller shows, with gun-fighting and explosions. Keeps me young." My staff and coworkers asked for pictures and cooed and awwed accordingly. All in all, I had forgotten how cute my residents are, how competent my staff is, and how much I enjoy doing what I do. It was a good time.
Toward the end of the night, the following pictures were texted to me.
Lilah and her daddy were obviously having a blast watching the Wings win, and texting me the score. Right before they picked me up, I got this one.
She was sleepy and content. I made it, and she obviously hadn't missed me nearly as much as I missed her. That''s exactly how it should be.
Friday, May 15, 2009
What's free time?
I realized that I hadn't updated in quite a while, and had a grand total of five minutes in which to do so. I'll try to keep it brief and to-the-point.
Lilah is nearly 2 months old. She took her first road trip downstate this month, and was very pleasant and easy to travel with. She's smiling regularly, cooing, chuckling, and working on an epic belly laugh. She still eats very well.
While in Detroit, I left her for 2 hours so I could get a drink with friends. *That* was an ordeal. She was sleeping soundly when I left her, and still sleeping soundly when I picked her up. Kalli, her caretaker, told me she had fussed briefly and had a lot of gas, but had been wonderful other than that. Although my mind was at ease, when she fussed later that night, totally irrational thoughts went through my mind - "What if they were mean to her? What if she hates me for leaving her? What if she was scared?" I had to take a deep breath and realize I was insane.
Today, Dano is watching Lilah for the day, during the hours I'll normally be at work. We're doing a practice run so I can make sure I have enough milk pumped, and work out any kinks before I actually have to return to work, which is this Tuesday. Yes, it's only two days a week. Yes, Lilah's going to live through the experience. But I'm still a nervous wreck about leaving her. It'll be nice to have adult time and 16 hours a week without having to care for a baby. I just can't imagine anyone else caring for her as well as I do. There is it - it sounds arrogant and egotistical, but that is the major concern I'm dealing with now.
We'll see how it goes.
Lilah is nearly 2 months old. She took her first road trip downstate this month, and was very pleasant and easy to travel with. She's smiling regularly, cooing, chuckling, and working on an epic belly laugh. She still eats very well.
While in Detroit, I left her for 2 hours so I could get a drink with friends. *That* was an ordeal. She was sleeping soundly when I left her, and still sleeping soundly when I picked her up. Kalli, her caretaker, told me she had fussed briefly and had a lot of gas, but had been wonderful other than that. Although my mind was at ease, when she fussed later that night, totally irrational thoughts went through my mind - "What if they were mean to her? What if she hates me for leaving her? What if she was scared?" I had to take a deep breath and realize I was insane.
Today, Dano is watching Lilah for the day, during the hours I'll normally be at work. We're doing a practice run so I can make sure I have enough milk pumped, and work out any kinks before I actually have to return to work, which is this Tuesday. Yes, it's only two days a week. Yes, Lilah's going to live through the experience. But I'm still a nervous wreck about leaving her. It'll be nice to have adult time and 16 hours a week without having to care for a baby. I just can't imagine anyone else caring for her as well as I do. There is it - it sounds arrogant and egotistical, but that is the major concern I'm dealing with now.
We'll see how it goes.
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