sueeeus

Hello there, gorgeous!  How I wish I knew what made you cry so.  Your poor little tummy must hurt hurt hurt.  Only six or eight weeks more and that digestive tract should be stronger and hopefully you won’t spend so many hours of each day screaming and all worked up.  Poor little guy.

I’ve spent a fortune on bottles, hoping the fancy air vents and contraptions do something to help ease your discomfort.  You have such a hard time eating, even from a bottle.  You get so worked up, and even though you’re hungry (I know you are, even if you shake your head), you’re too worked up to take it.  We have to wait until you’ve calmed down, and then, gently, carefully, finally, you’ll eat. If we’re ever so careful, that is, and if you don’t get all worked up again.  You’d starve to death if you had to suckle me, and I’d be a frayed and frazzled mess.  Even more so than I am.  It’s all we can do to keep you fed with the bottle!

Your brother had colic, and he screamed inconsolably for several hours.  Every. Single. Day.  Well, late afternoon and into the evening.  And then he turned three months old, and became a happy boy.

You’re not nearly so inconsolable as your brother was.  Inconsolable, yes, but you go in bouts of only an hour or two.  And you spread them out all through the day.  It makes me sad that you have so many minutes of unhappiness.

Even when you cry, I love the sound of your voice, and I can’t wait for you to turn into a happy happy boy.  I’m looking forward to hearing you coo and gurgle and giggle and seeing the sparkle in your eyes.

I don’t want to rush through your infancy, but it would be nice to fast forward past the rough stuff.  Only the rough stuff though.  I want to treasure and savor all your baby goodness, and gobble you up, my beautiful, beautiful boy!

Run along now.  This is a post that will likely be long and laborious.  I’ve just got a load of disappointments that are eroding my sense of equilibrium, so I think it may behoove me to write it out.  Perhaps I’ll feel better at the end of it.

• Much as I’m grateful for the magic and mystery that is the human body, and its ability (however challenged, in my case) to produce milk, and much as exclusive pumping has its advantages, I have to admit that I am, after all, disappointed that I don’t get to be one of those nursing mothers, completely attuned to her child, the child contentedly suckling away.  I suppose there is a bit of grief to process here.  It’s one of those experiences that I’d longed for and worked valiantly toward.  And it’s apparently not for me.  I’ve studied in earnest hundreds of pictures of nipples and breasts (dear me, I might actually get blog traffic for that combination of words) and suckling babes trying to determine what they have that I don’t have.  Yes, milk flow was and is certainly a handicap, but it appears that I come from a line of women who can not nurse.  Not my grandmother, not my mother, not my sister.  My nipples are wide and flat, and the aerolae are huge.  I could do without Gadget’s ever helpful mother’s suggestion that perhaps the baby would be able to nurse if he’d get his mouth past the nipple and on to the ‘dark circle part’.  No, dear MIL, I wasn’t aware of that.  Sigh.  She means well, so I shouldn’t be so sarcastic and short with her.  And she hasn’t seen what I have to work with.  Not that I plan to flash my breasts at her, but it would go a long way in explaining things.
• I don’t like goodbyes.  My sister and her family came to spend LB’s first week with us, and she filled three freezers with amazing food for us, to tide us through many months.  She’s wonderful and generous and I love her to bits.  It’s always so hard to say goodbye, and I selfishly wish and hope that one day we can live closer, much much closer, to each other.
• Shortly after my sister left, my mother and her husband (MH) arrived, to spend ten days with us, and they left this morning.  None of the siblings have a particularly close relationship with her, but we love her.  She’s our mother.  So I’m sad when she leaves.  It took a little arm twisting to convince her to stay as long as she did.  I don’t know how much of it is her, and how much is her husband, but they generally stay only a day or two, and they zip off long before sunrise, sometimes without even saying goodbye.  Well, they say goodbye at night before bed, but what’s the hurry?  They’re retired.  It’s easy to push buttons and tread on nerves (more on this later), but even so, it’s sad to say goodbye.
• With a new baby, we’ve been trying to organize some family get togethers, so everyone can meet him.  One of my nieces planned a trip up, and wanted to make a dinner for us.  We gladly accepted, and as the time drew near, we all decided to get together at my SIL’s place, rather than my place, because she’s more centrally located to all of us, so the commute would be much easier for most people.  She planned to make Thai food, so Gadget said he’d stay home, since he doesn’t like Thai.  I gave him the evil eye, and later I told him that it would mean a lot to me if he’d go, regardless of what was being served for dinner, because it wasn’t really about the food in the first place.  He said he was only kidding (but he wasn’t) and that he’d go.  Then we were trying to figure out when to get together with Gadget’s family, because we wanted to do it while my mom was here, for more family bonding.  We weren’t certain of the dates, so the next thing we knew, my mother’s husband was dialing the phone.  He’d called my niece, and proceeded with the grand inquisition, which probably freaked her out a bit.  It would me.  He has a tendency of taking more initiative within the family than many of us are comfortable with.  For instance, he spanked my nephew once, and I’m not sure how my SIL handled that, but my sister who witnessed it was livid, as was my BIL, and because of that, MH is not welcome to stay in their home.  Somehow, I didn’t notice that event, but I kept a bit of an eye on him while here, because I didn’t want him to be disciplining my child in such a manner.  He came close, but didn’t cross the line where I’d have had to rear up as MAMA BEAR and tell him to leave the discipline to me.
• The day for the niece dinner arrived, and we converged on my SIL’s home.  But where was the niece?  Dinner was to be around 6, and she didn’t even arrive until after 7.  She has two kids of her own, which she left at home for this trip, but surely she knew that kids can only wait so long while maintaining reasonably good behaviour.  Surely she knew that?  My SIL ended up putting together a quick kids meal to take care of the hoarde of hungry children.  Once my niece arrived, she seemed preoccupied, and went to work immediately in the kitchen, prepared a fine meal, grabbed a plate, took a bite or two at most, then left.  She left!  I don’t know….  I was disappointed because we were having this family get together that it seemed as though she didn’t even want to be a part of.  Maybe she didn’t really want it to be a big thing, and maybe she just wanted to come to my house by herself and cook dinner for just us, rather than for us, my mom and her husband, my sister, my nephew, and my SIL and her kids (half of whom are her half-siblings).  Maybe it was family overload and maybe she has a touch of social anxiety.  It runs in the family.  I just don’t know.  But I felt disappointed afterwards, and even now, thinking of it.  I’m certainly taking it personally, whether or not I should.  It feels sort of like rejection.
• The next day was the Gadget family get together.  To make it easy, we bring all the food and we drive an hour and a half to get there, so they don’t have to do anything but show up at the MIL’s house.  The rest of them live only minutes from her, so it makes it very convenient.  But do they show up?  NO!  Only one of Gadget’s sisters came, apart from the brother who already lives there.  His other sister and dad, who live less than a mile away, didn’t come, nor did the other brother.  It will be a long time before I agree to a get-together up there again.  It was especially disappointing because it seemed like it should have been a big deal, to come meet a brand new baby in the family.  Plus, with my mother and her husband making the effort to extend themselves to the other side of the family, it all seems like a slap in the face.  And more rejection.
• I’ve made the recent observation that there are several personalities within my family, that, were I not related, and should I cross paths in the course of living with people of these personalities, I wouldn’t befriend them, and probably would never even make any effort to introduce myself or interact with them at all.  At all.  This makes me sad, because these are my people.  What is it they say, that you can love someone, but not like them?  I suppose this is how it is.  And it makes me sad.  And maybe a bit ashamed.
• I find it very sobering to recognize that those traits which I find most frustrating and least appealing in my mother are traits that I quite possibly manifest myself.

…it doesn’t seem to have helped (much).  I’ve written it out, but don’t feel much better, if at all.

• What happened to my emailed blog comments?  Why are they not being sent?  Did they stop before or after the WordPress update?  Before, I think, but I can’t be sure.
• When one is strapped to a breast pump every so many hours, one has time to do things like upgrade blog software, fiddle with graphics software and design birth announcements.  In half hour increments.
• Heavens, I’m tired.
• Feeling happy after a percoset a few days ago, I noted to Gadget that I’ve not noticed any real post partum depression yet.  He replied that he likes it when I’m depressed, because then I like to spend money and buy things.
• Ha Ha Ha
• He was (mostly) serious.
• Every now and then I gently bring up the topic of the snip.  Most recently, Gadget said, “Tell you what, I get the snip, and you get me that motorcycle.”
• Ha Ha Ha
• He was serious.  (I’m fairly certain.  He really wants that stupid bike.)
• If I were five years younger, I might want to consider having another child.  I’ve always wanted three, or at least for as long as I can remember.  Two boys and a girl.  But now that I’m 43, and have this most beautiful and wonderful baby, I’m feeling my age and can’t imagine how I could possibly go through the newborn days again.
• I can’t fathom how mothers of three and more do it.
• My mother had nine, and I’m finally beginning to cut her a bit of slack for how lackadaisical I perceived her mothering to be (back then).
• Is it just mine, or do all three- going on four- year olds have serious obedience and defiance issues?
• How does one teach a three- going on four- year old what a lie is, and why not to do it?
• Today he played outside and got covered in mud.  As boys do.  Then he took a shower, all by himself.  He even remembered to take his socks off, and he set the water temperature correctly, and he even lathered himself up with soap.  I’m so proud of him!  It’s the most grown up thing he’s done so far.
• Pumping isn’t so bad, really, but it certainly forces a particular structure into one’s life, for which there is very little latitude.

LB had his follow up appointment yesterday, at two weeks and two days old.  He’s eating like a champion and weighed in at 11lbs 0.5 oz, a full eleven ounces more than his birth weight, which is great, considering he lost over a full pound before leaving the hospital.

I also bit the bullet and mustered the courage and resolve to properly peel back the skin and expose his little turtle, and though he cried passionately, I persevered, and we both lived through it.  After the fact, I have to say that most of his crying was no different than the display he provides any time his diaper is changed.  He really doesn’t like having his diaper changed, or being on his back, or being naked.  Funny kid.  So many kids are completely opposite, loving to be naked and free.  Anyhow, after that initial peel-back-exposure, all has been well — no major swelling, no bleeding, no screaming at the liberal application of neosporin.  It would appear that my earlier freak out was mostly unwarranted.  Not much of a surprise there.

The pediatrician gave him flying colors all around.  Good feeding, good color, good head control, good eye tracking, good circ site, good umbilical site.  All good.  Hooray for my little champion.  My little dream boat.

I have no idea what day it is, but today, the mailman rang the doorbell and left a package on my front porch.  I was attempting to nurse my little monkey, and my three year old decided he wanted to get the door, to which I vehemently objected, to which he belligerently disobeyed.  Oh, it’s so exasperating, trying to teach one this age why he can’t do certain things like answer the front door.  By himself.

But look at the goodness that arrived!  A gift from MsCellania!  Soft, warm fuzzies for both of my boys, so that BB wouldn’t feel left out.  And look at the adorable monkey fabrics, that are perfect for my new little monkey!

Thank you!!  I haven’t even told BB that the big race car blankie is for him — he’s still working on finishing his breakfast.  Yes, it’s 8:30 p.m.  He asked for a peanut butter and jam sandwich this morning, then ate about three bites and commenced a full day of play and mischief.  I bagged the sandwich and let it be known that that would be lunch, and if it didn’t get eaten then, it would be dinner.  So.  Dinner it is.  When he finishes, I’ll give him the blanket, and he will be delighted.  🙂

Thank you so much, M!!

This is all I had to show after a span of six hours.  Pathetic.  Things are improving.  They’ve gone from dismal to less dismal, but still pathetic.  Life in two hour increments was killing me.  It takes a full one of those hours to pump, decant, clean, feed, diaper, and burp, leaving the other hour to use the bathroom, sleep, shower, attend to the other child, etc etc etc.  So I switched to three hour compartments.  It’s so liberating!  That extra hour is pure wealth, and I can actually get reasonable naps in here and there.  I even made banana bread today, with such an abundance of time on my hands.

I’m the luckiest mom ever, because LB is the best baby.  He’s so content, except when diapering.  He has the biggest, brightest eyes, when they’re open.

He’s so laid back.  When he’s awake, he just kicks back and looks around, calm and content as can be. (Yes, I know the pictures are blurry; I thought they were in focus when I took them, but I’m living life in a blur right now, so what do I really know?)

BB, on the other hand, is proving to be quite a challenge, with the adjustments of late.  He’s a love, really, but his one year old cousin is here all week, and sharing attention and toys and life in general with so many others is a difficult thing for a three year old. I think he will do better when it’s back to just the four of us.  Even so, he does need to learn how to behave and obey, regardless of how many other people are here.  I let him pretend he was a baby last night, and snuggled him in my lap and spoon fed him his lunch, then tucked him in for a nap, and stroked his face and talked to him, telling him that’s what I used to do when he was a baby.  He really liked that moment of attention, and took a nice, long, refreshing nap.  It was very good for him, to get some rest.

I simply do not know how mothers of more than two can function.

The apple of my eye.

Born 12:51 p.m. on 27 Aug 2008

10lbs 6oz at 38 weeks

We are well!

More to come…

I’m ready.  I’m NOT ready!  This is THE DAY.  The end of this journey and the beginning of the next.  The journey in which LB joins our family at last.

I’m not sure I can articulate my feelings, but I think it’s important that I try.  How can I begin to express my gratitude that I’ve been blessed to be a mother, twice over?  Two boys.  The mother of two beautiful boys.

There’s such a difference, from the baby leaving my body and coming out into the world.  The sheer sense of responsibility is almost overwhelming.  I know what it’s like, having been down this road with BB.  All the same.  Today, life will be much different.

Possibly some of this is the knowledge that this may truly be the end of this journey for me, that I will never be pregnant again, never carry another child, never bring a daughter into this world.

I don’t think I honestly want more than two — my body is not young, and there is much effort in raising children well.

Only a few hours more and our family of three becomes a family of four.  I suppose I am a bit terrified of what lies ahead, but for no good reason.  BB is nothing but a joy and delight.

A family of four!  How can it be anything but beautiful?!

I think perhaps the trepidation is merely that fear of change, of leaving one’s comfort zone and becoming accustomed to a new reality.

In a way, it’s like that feeling you get when you’re on a roller coaster, when you’re strapped in to the seat, motoring ever so slowly towards the peak, wondering to yourself why on earth you decided to get on this ride, and knowing that there’s no turning back and you absolutely must and will face the inevitable, that very, very soon you will be plummeting over the edge.  And as you drop, your fears crash through your stomach as you hurtle down, down, downward.  And then it’s over, and you’ve survived, and all is well.  (And sometimes you run right back, to queue for another go!)

So today, I’m nearing the precipice in this roller coaster seat, and the tension is rising in my throat.  In but a few hours, the drop.  And then it will all be over.  I will hold my precious new son in my arms, put him to my breast, and love him fiercely until the day I die.

A mother.  Again.  The dream of all my dreams, coming true.  How blessed I am.  How absolutely and completely blessed.

LB, my LB.  My dear, sweet LB.

LB and BB.  My boys.  My sons.

I am a mother.

So blessed.

BB is fascinated by the whole blood sugar testing and insulin administration process. Every time I stick my finger, he runs to see the drop of blood. Did you bleed? Satisfied with the size of the drop, he then proclaims, Ouchie! Every single time. Next, he likes to pick the injection site, and watches intently as I proceed. Sometimes it stings or pinches, and he says, “Did I not pick the right spot?” Sometimes it bleeds a bit, and he says, “Maybe you hit a bain (vein).”

Sometimes I’ll catch him playing make-believe with scraps of junk mail or whatnot, and he’ll be ‘testing his blood sugar.’ I hope he never actually needs to. Diabetes seems to be prevalent on my side of the family.

Less than two weeks left of insulin therapy, and I can put all the needle paraphernalia away. It’s not so bad, really, but I’ll be glad to be done with this part. It’s quite something, how the blood sugar can return to normal once the placenta is gone. I’m very curious whether my numbers will be stable or not, when it’s all said and done. I’m not planning on resuming the metformin for a little while, just so I can see.

I’m hoping to come out of this pregnancy with a net weight loss. I gained 7 lbs in the first 32 weeks, and 11 lbs between 32-36 weeks, 5 of which came on last week. So I assume that the recent 11 lbs is mostly water (as evidenced by the size of my ankles and the indentations left in my skin with the least amount of pressure), baby and placenta and amniotic fluid probably account for about 15-20, so I should be down a net 10 or so once LB arrives, and that 10 should help my blood sugar numbers. So. We shall see.

Barricade, as those in the know, know, is the name of the Transformer Decepticon that masquerades as a police car. So, whenever a police car is spotted, there is always an excited exclamation, “It’s Barricade!!!!”

Last week, BB happened to peer out the window and started jumping up and down, “TWO BARRICADES!!!!!!”

As it turns out, we have some fine neighbors. One woman was arrested. We don’t know the story. The house next door has recently had the garage converted to another house, so there are two rental houses where there used to be one, and all sorts of noises and late night parties and general mayhem seems to take place there.

This morning we were working out front, pruning and weeding, and a child was crying for over an hour at the top of his/her lungs. A very, very unhappy child. What does one do? Poor thing was miserable, obviously. And then some adult yelling and shouting started, and escalated. It went on for quite some time, and eventually Gadget called the sheriff. I was a bit nervous about this, as we were obviously the only people outside, so the call would most likely have come from us, and who knows what these people might do. I tend to be nervous about things like that, being a chicken $#!t and all. The thing is, you never know what violent people might end up doing. Because they don’t seem too concerned about reeling in their emotions and all. Anyhow, not long after, along came “TWO BARRICADES!!!!!!” Apparently they come in pairs for domestic violence calls? Second time in less that two weeks. Nice.

Some day we might move to a neighborhood with a little higher socio-economic demographic, perhaps. If we can afford it. Our little cul-de-sac is generally quite nice, apart from this set of neighbors. And we don’t spend much time outside, for whatever reason. I just hope all remains safe.

In more happy news, BB earned enough Good Boy points for his next prize. He’s very pleased. Once he gets the hang of this Good Boy business, we’ll start making him work a bit harder for his points. So far it’s an excellent tool, though. It’s working great! He helps me load the dishwasher, make the bed, hang the towels, pick up toys, wash the counters, put things in the recycle or trash bins, and such. Of course I have to actually do most of these things in tandem, or re-do them, but he’s learning, and that’s the important thing. I am very pleased as well. My beautiful boy. He fills my world with much joy.

Even with the two barricades incident, I’m feeling like I’ve had a happy, happy day. Our front yard no longer competes with the front yard on Malcolm in the Middle, we have a full tank of fuel in the van, a refrigerator filled with good vegetables, fruits, milk, cheese and eggs, the baby hammock is up, the sheets and towels are clean, the hospital bag is half-packed, and we had a delicious supper of grilled sirloin and asparagus, red peppers, onions, and mushrooms. Gadget hasn’t produced the car seat yet, but he insists he knows exactly where it is.