Fully Initiated

The night we brought Christopher home from the hospital had to be the longest, most challenging night of my entire existence. It was awful. Of course, he had been a complete angel in the hospital, but by the time we got home everything had changed. It didn't take long for us to figure out that he was just. plain. hungry. There is a lot that went into that realization, a lot that I won't get into right now, but that is the general idea. He was hungry. And it took him quite a while to learn how to eat - even from the bottle. Just thinking back on that first night makes me cringe. The SCREAMING. Oh good heavens. It was awful.

But after that, everything seemed so easy. Well, not easy. Natural. Everything seemed so natural. Yes, I was tired, but that didn't matter because I could sleep whenever I wanted to. With my husband at work and my child being of the "I won't sleep unless I am nursing" temperament, if ever I was tired, I just grabbed the boy and snuggled in for a long winter's nap. And no one else needed me. I could be up all night and sleep all day. I could sleep next to Christopher all afternoon and no one else was waking up for a nap asking for bubbles or wanting to watch "Hohoho."

Now it's completely different. The amount of sleep I got last night is of no value to the little person in the next room who is calling from his crib because he has poo-poos. I can't nap off the grumpiness (and trust me, there has been a lot of grumpiness. I'm surprised Tim hasn't handed me my papers yet. Really.) because my world is now so much bigger than it was just three weeks ago. Being a mom of two is INFINITELY more challenging than just being a mom of one.

Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to imply that if you only have one child then you're any less of a parent than those who have 16. Or 18. Or however many they have by now. I just mean that, for me, this whole parenting gig has transcended the real. We're into the really real now. And that's serious stuff.

Tonight was my first night alone with both boys, as Tim had a meeting at church. He was probably aching to get out of here, in light of the fact that the woman formerly known as his wife has been replaced by this temperamental, hormonal, massively emotional basket case of a beast. Despite all of that, he offered to stay home as I waved goodbye from the screen door with tears streaming down my face. But we sent him on his way, eager to really try it out. Have I truly been initiated? Or is that going to wait until he's back at work and I'm really on my own. So Christopher and I read some books on the couch while Jake enjoyed a tasty treat. At 7:30 on the dot, Christopher pointed upstairs to his room. So up we went. He was already jammied up, as we were skipping bathtime tonight (what do you think, I'm THAT crazy?). Had this night been like every other for the past week, Jacob would have been asleep in his chair at that time and I could have just left him and read with Christopher in his room, had our snuggle and kiss, and dropped him into the crib. And everything would have been normal. For a few minutes anyway. But NO. Jake was AWAKE. WIDE AWAKE.

Throughout the whole of my pregnancy, this was my biggest concern. How would I handle bedtime or naptime with TWO? I thought that Christopher would be massively unimpressed if I put him in his crib and then walked out of his room with the baby in my arms - I figured he would wonder why the new kid got to stay up and play with mom while he was sentenced to three hours in the crib. I should have known better. I should have given my Christopher a little bit more credit.

Tonight we laid Jake on a blanket on the floor and, at my son's command, we sat next to him on the blanket (rather than in the rocker) and together we sang songs to the baby. For a while, Christopher even laid down next to him while we were singing. And he gave him a kiss before night-night. And I still got my snuggle. And I still got my kiss. And when Jacob and I left the room, Christopher sat in his crib with a smile on his face and waved bye-bye to us both.

I guess this initiation really is just in its beginning stages - as is the education. Not the education that I will pass on to my boys through the love I have for them... the education I will receive by allowing them to love each other.

...and to all a good night...

Phone Home

Jacob looks a little bit like ET. With his perfectly round c-section head, and ears that point out ever-so-slightly at the tips. When you hold him under his arms so that his shoulders go up enough to make his neck disappear, his little grey eyes open just enough to let on that he's having some seriously wise thoughts that lack only verbal expression to be meaningful.

....

Finally, An Introduction.

My little Jacob Benjamin entered the world, quite loudly, on May 22, 2008. It was 8:00am on the dot. He weighed in at a whopping 7lbs 15oz, and measured 21.5 inches long. (I find it fascinating that every single nurse commented on how big he was, while all I could think of was how tiny he was compared to his 10lb 6oz brother!) He had a perfectly round c-section head, skinny little ankles, loooong fingers, pointy ears (although his left one was almost completely flat for the first couple of days...I guess he favors his left side - at least when he's squished up inside of me, that is) steel blue-grey eyes, very very light eyelashes, and no eyebrows. He's got a darling little cry, made even more darling by the fact that he rarely uses it. He doesn't like having a dirty diaper. He was an almost-instant pro at breastfeeding. He falls asleep in his car seat. He sleeps in his bouncy seat. He even (okay, until last night) sleeps in his bed.

I am absolutely crazy in love with him.

One of these days I'll get his birth story into his baby book. But for now, that story will come in snippets. So, below, you will find my list of the things that made me cry - for better or for worse - over the past eleven days. "The good, the bad, and the ugly," if you will of how we got our second beautiful boy into the world. And so....

Things that were AWFUL....


1. The FOUR (yes FOUR) attemps at inserting a successful IV, which left me with FOUR (yes FOUR) nasty bruises all over my arms and hands. I'm not an addict, but I look like one.

2. Walking into the operating room. Even though it's a joyous walk, I'm having a hard time imagining anything more nerve-wracking than kissing your husband (your pale, nervous, about to pass out husband) goodbye in the hallway and then walking into that sterile space only to step up on the stool and hoist your mammoth body onto the operating table.

3. Sitting on the table with your entire backside exposed to the anesthesiologist with the german accent while he gives you INCREDIBLE drugs. Drugs = good. Showing the doctor the side of the moon that is bigger than it's ever been in its entire existance = bad.

4. Finding out that your pale-faced husband really did almost pass out while waiting for you in the hallway.

5. The post-recovery transport from stretcher to hospital bed, which you are responsible for managing almost entirely on your own. I swear, that was on par with the IV attempts for being the most painful and exhausting part of the whole day.

6. Wanting to ask your husband (who was planning on going home to be with the boy while your mom was planning on spending the night with you, bless her heart) to stay with you because you were just tired and emotional and just really really really wanted him to be there with you for that last night. And not asking him.

7. Getting a call from said husband about an hour later to let you know that he had taken a nasty fall once he'd gotten home, had DISLOCATED HIS SHOULDER and was on his way to the emergency room while his sister babysat the boy.

8. This emergency room was in a separate hospital from the one in which you were now SOBBING.

9. Not being able to talk to this same husband once he returned from the ER that night because he was so sick from the anesthesia that he nearly passed out instead.

10. Finding out the next day that he was still so sick that his sister would be picking you up from the hospital. Not him. This was not winding up the way you had dreamed it would for the past nine months.

11. Wondering WHY IN THE WORLD you didn't just ask him to stay with you in the first place when that's what you really wanted to do. Oh yeah, because he was going home to make things easier for your older, very darling boy, who needed his daddy.

12. Realizing how hard it is to sometimes be a good mommy over being a needy, emotional wife.

13. Not being able to pick up Christopher.

14. Tim not being able to pick up Christopher OR Jacob.

15. Feeling angry and sad over this ridiculous turn of events....and yet realizing how grateful you are that he hurt his shoulder rather than his head and imagining how badly it could have turned out.

Things that were FABULOUS....

1. realizing, on my way to the hospital that neither my pants nor my shirt that were currently gracing my body were of the maternity variety.

2. Driving to the hospital with no traffic and no labor pains, while video taping my husband talking to the baby. (Granted, we did it the same way last time, but okay.)

3. Getting to the hospital and having NO ONE even ask my name - they were expecting me and escorted me straight to my room. So far, five stars.

4. Having the nurse tell me that as they saw us walking in with me carrying the pillows and the camera bag over my shoulder and Tim having his hands down at his sides, they thought that I was carrying everything and he was carrying nothing. They were preparing themselves for quite an interesting day. My dear husband was redeemed, in their eyes, when he came around the corner with my HUGE bag that he was carrying by the handle straps.

5. The nurses. They truly are the heart of the operation. God bless them.

6. The anesthesiologisy who was on her way home but stopped in my room to finally get an IV into me that no one else could do.

7. The anesthesiologist with the german accent who took care of me throughout the surgery. He took care of my needs before I was even aware of them. "Are you veeling anxious? I could geev you somesing to make you veel better."

8. Hearing the most beautiful sound imaginable: MY CRYING BABY BOY.

9. Pulling the curtain aside a little bit so that I could see these skinny little legs and feet hanging from the nurse's hands while they put his hat on his head.

10. Sharing, for the second time, with my husband the most magical moment of our lives.

11. FINALLY being able to eat at 3am on Friday morning.

12. The fact that my night nurse that night was 7 months pregnant. Had anyone else been the one to tell me that I could finally eat (after abdominal surgery, you can't eat until you fart. Seriously. Obviously the whole thing is on the honor system....but you can bet that I was BANGING on the "call the nurse" button the INSTANT I felt the slightest rumbling) I would have been far too self-conscious to ask for donuts. My wonderful, pregnant nurse probably would have sat there with me with a donut in each hand. I swear - each nurse that I had was perfectly suited to what I needed at each individual moment. I do not believe this is a coincidence.

13. Greeting my parents and my in-laws when the nurse let them all sneak into the recovery room to meet the baby for the first time.

14. Greeting the many other family members and friends who came to visit us on that first day, including my Aunt and Grandparents - Chris and Jake's great-grandparents and watching them hold their second great-grandchild.

15. Realizing what a privilege it is for me to get to witness that moment.

16. Seeing Christopher walk into my hospital room carrying a bouquet of flowers, wearing his "I'm the big brother" t-shirt, and climbing up on the bed to give his baby brother a kiss on the forehead.

17. Having a shower in my room.

18. Feeling SO MUCH BETTER throughout the entire 4 days than I felt even weeks after Christopher's birth.

19. Putting Jake in his carseat so that we could go home and start our life as a family.

20. Walking down the pathway to my front door, feeling so good that it honestly felt like I was returning from a day of shopping, rather than surgery and a four-day hospital stay.

The list goes on, of course. Both lists, actually. It has been a challenging 11 days - far more challenging than I had anticipated in a variety of different ways. But we're settling in. Tim and I are both getting stronger every day. Christopher already has his own name for Jakey - "Yaya." Don't ask me where this came from. My mom has gone home and we're all settling in for the end of our first day alone as a family.

And you know what? So far, so good.

And Then There Were Two

....or there will be anyway, tomorrow morning just after 8am.

What a surreal feeling. I've been way into this scheduled c-section thing, especially being so very grateful that regardless of how many aches and pains I had, at least I knew I wouldn't be pregnant past this Thursday. There's some serious psychological goodness that comes along with that kind of assurance. Especially after waiting and waiting and waiting for nearly three extra weeks last time. I've even done a pretty good job of not getting too emotional over leaving Christopher.

Until today.

Today was the perfect day. We got up early and headed over for daily Mass. Living right across the street from our parish church, one would think this is something I could do quite often. Okay, okay. I really could do it quite often, but I don't. I'll make my excuses another time. Anyway. I wanted to go today to be with my family, to pray, to receive the Eucharist. That is strength that I will need over the next several days. Christopher, my little angel, lived up to his title. We sit in the back pew so that I can stand next to me in the aisle and play quietly, and he did just that. Again today he demonstrated this connection that he has with the spiritual - one that amazes me with each manifestation. Today was not the first time that he walked up and down the aisle (the last few empty pews, anyway) holding his little cup in one hand and his drum stick in the other, dipping the drum stick in the cup and then waving it up and down - just like Father has been doing with the Holy Water throughout the entire season of Easter. It is amazing to me the things this kid picks up. OH - and lest I forget, today he bowed toward the tabernacle before he entered the pew. Makes me wonder if the seminaries will lower their age requirements.

All day long he was just so sweet and loving. He'd give me hugs without solicitation... He continued his love for my belly with snuggles and kisses... He oh-so-kindly repeatedly lifted up my shirt to show the entire family my monstrous stomach....

And I cried through every single minute of it.

Because I'm exhausted. Because I'm emotional.

Because I'm excited. Because I'm anxious.

Because I'm leaving my boy for the first time.

Because I'm meeting my boy for the first time.

Because I am for more blessed than I have ever had any right to expect.

Far more blessed than I ever realized I'd even desired.

I looked it up - Jupiter is the biggest planet. This time, I'd say I'm coming in at a steady Saturn.

I don't consider myself to be an anxious person. Anxiety and insecurity are not things that occupy much of my time. I like meeting new people. I enjoy public speaking. I prefer to do things by myself rather than bring someone else along with me. While I'm far from perfect, I think that I've struck a good balance of shy vs. confident. It is true that I'm not very patient. Others would say that I am, and in many ways I suppose they are correct. But those people are not privy to my inner monologue. My interior moanings over the things for which I have zero tolerance. My point is that I know my weaknesses, and do what I can each day to move past them.

But back to the matter at hand. This is going to be a big week for all of us here in the land of burps and farts, especially (dare I say?) for me. On Thursday I will be having a baby. In order to accomplish this, I will be undergoing major abdominal surgery. As a result of that, I will be leaving Christopher for four days - something I have never done before. In many ways, I feel ahead of the game. I literally feel no anxiety over welcoming another child into the family. It does not concern me that we are going to be experiencing a major transition in our family life. I'm not worried about how Christopher will handle becoming the "oldest" at the expense of being the "only." Nor am I concerned over the whole moving-into-the-operating-room thing. Perhaps this is because in my mind, I'm just having a baby! That fact alone trumps the whole surgery issue, and I find that I have to remind myself that the surgery will even take place. I've done it before. It was no big deal. My doctor is phenomenal. And! My husband gets to go in with me. There couldn't be a more ideal situation.

But then I think about leaving my Christopher.

And my heart breaks and my face crumbles. My blood pressure triples and I feel like every vein in my forehead is about to burst out of my face. You see, I don't mind the fact that after Thursday it's no longer going to be just the two of us. (That's what we've dreamed about and prayed for, practically since we brought Christopher home from the hospital - how could I be sad about bringing him a buddy?!) What I do mind is the fact that I have to give up control. I have to give up my knowledge of his every minute and allow....and trust....someone else to help me by caring for him. Sigh....outsourcing control and asking for help. My two strongest traits.

So last week I was sitting downstairs at the computer typing up my "How to Keep Christopher Alive" manifesto to leave for my mom and Tim's sister. Christopher had been in bed for a while, but was clearly having a little too much fun. To calm things down, Tim went upstairs to read to the boy while I continued this very important task. Only minutes later, it seemed, I heard the following coming from upstairs: "Christopher, NO! NO! NO! NO!".....THUMP!...."Waaaah!"

My PLANET of a body sailed up the stairs faster than I've moved since....well, EVER.

The boy had climbed out of his crib. Thank GOD for the fact that Tim was still in the room and caught him before the "THUMP" that I heard turned from Christopher falling back onto his mattress into Christopher falling onto our awful, unpadded carpet. The entire event sent us all into orbit, but once we settled down, everything was fine. And now, Christopher's mattress sits on the FLOOR inside the walls of his crib. It makes me feel like we've got a litter of puppies - should have just bought a cardboard box.

Anyway. All that being said, I DO recognize that regardless of what I do or where I am - even if I'm breathing down his neck every second (which, admittedly, I am not) - accidents will happen. Despite the fact that I know everything about Christopher's day, I cannot stop him from growing, from exploring, and from learning. Even from his accidents and mistakes. But for me, handing that responsibility...that PRIVILEGE...on to someone else is not something I'm too pleased with. Even though they ADORE him. Even though they will probably be more watchful and more vigilant than I ever am.

Currently this anxiety is manifesting itself in my attempts at planning transportation for my boy while I'm in the hospital. Originally we had talked about moving the carseat from the expedition to the Taurus. That way no one has to move the carseat and worry about whether or not they have installed it properly, nor do they have to worry about driving around my beast of a vehicle when they are far more accostumed to their own cars. At least by having it in the Taurus they'd be downsizing. That's always an easier transition.

Today I was informed that my in-laws want to buy their own carseat. NOW. They've told me this for months, and I've always put it off. I've never really felt the necessity for anyone else to take the boy in their car, and because of that I've always felt that for them to shell out that kind of money would just be too much. Especially when I don't anticipate taking them up on carting Christopher around. (Remember that whole asking for help thing? That whole "I'm an independent person who likes to do things herself" thing?) While the smart side of me recognizes the generosity and kindness that this offer entails, the newly-developed anxious side of me wonders why we need to do this right now. Okay. Why we need to do this at all. Why, at a time that is fairly considered to be a very anxious time, do we need to deal with this issue that is clearly making me even more anxious about the whole event?

Why? Because it will make things easier on me. Or at least that's the goal. And that is the truly wonderful thing about living so close to Tim's family. They have this genuine concern for my welfare - for truly being a family and helping out where and when they're needed. Even when that need is solely in their own perception, rather than in my reality. For all of that, I am incredibly grateful. I'll admit though, as if it's not already painfully obvious, that my independence, my confidence, and okay my pride all have the tendency to get in the way of my truly appreciating that helpfulness. I don't like being told when I need help, but rather would prefer to ask for it when I honestly feel its need. Based on the above, yes I do recognize it, the whole asking thing is a challenge that I need to overcome. But I know my limits and I'M WORKING ON IT.

To resolve the issue, my wonderful husband tells me to just leave the carseat in the expedition and that's that. Why are things so much easier in his brain? Why do I need to add so much drama - even if it just stays inside my own head - to the situation? Why do I need to make an already-anxious week even more anxious by worrying about this?

All of those questions, for now, will have to be answered with the same resolution that I've used to justify everything else in the past week (from ugly clothes to going bra-less in public. OKAY. I didn't really GO bra-less. But boy was I tempted.):

I'm having a baby in five days and I can do ANYTHING I WANT.

Ho Ho Ho....

This past Christmas was Christopher's first "big boy" Christmas. Sure, he was only 15 months old, but he was big enough to walk around and help people pull the wrapping off of their gifts, old enough to get a massive sugar high from showing his sweet face around the dessert table any time one of his aunties was there, and strong enough to climb into his brand new 0ff-roading red wagon that he received from his Auntie Erin. While his language skills were still very much in development mode, he somehow managed to pick up on the fact that Santa says "ho ho ho." It really was the cutest thing ever. Any time he saw anything that even slightly resembled Santa, Rudolph, Frosty...okay, any Christmas character with a face....he'd point at it with a big smile and say, "Ho ho ho!!!"

During a post-Christmas trip to toys-r-us, I was pleasantly surprised to see that, even WEEKS after Christmas (once all of our personal "ho ho hos" had long been packed away) he still recognized all of the Ho Ho Ho's in the clearance section and was THRILLED to be reunited with his long lost red and green friends.

Since then, "ho ho ho" has been replaced by incessant "mamadadamamadadaBUBBLES!!!!!!" Yes, it is precious. Yes, I will get that sweet little voice on video so we can cherish it forever and (one day in the very distant future) listen to it with nostalgic tears dripping down our faces. And yes, bubbles do have a way about them - a way of turning even the oldest and grumpiest of adults into children again, blowing them into the sunshine and watching the wind carry them up, up, up, up until they finally POP! But honestly, the fact that NOTHING in the world could satisfy him (morning, noon, or night) unless he was blowing bubbles was starting to grate on my nerves.

And then. You won't believe this. One night last week, when Tim was at his parish council meeting and I was sitting on the floor folding laundry, a certain little person says to me, "Ho ho ho?" I just looked at him quizzically, and went back to my business. "Ho ho ho?" "Momma?" Looking up from my laundry again, I see that he's walked across the room, picked up the remote control and is now bringing it back to me. "Ho ho ho?" This process was repeated THREE times, with THREE separate remotes before I finally caught on. Well, kinda. I mean, where did he come up with this? So I started going through the DVDs and found his veggietales Christmas, popped it in (no, excuse me, HE did that) and turned it on.

And now EVERY. DAY. I am the recipient of every remote in the house, with a questioning "ho ho ho?" Until I finally give in and we watch The Toy that Saved Christmas. Again. And Again. In May. During a HEAT WAVE. (A heat wave that is hitting ONE WEEK BEFORE I DELIVER THIS BABY - a point that should not go unnoticed.) When we should be sitting out in the shade blowing bubbles into the breeze.

We'll come full circle, though. I'm sure of it. Come Christmas photo-ops, Christopher will be sitting on Santa's lap. And they'll both be blowing bubbles.

WHY does blogger format my posts HOWEVER it wants without my permission!? Argh.

Everyone has things that they say that make no sense. Right? Whether it's because they mess up an expression that has been around for years (I once used "put it on the back porch" rather than "back burner"...in a college paper, no less. It really is amazing that I came away with any degree at all) or because they just seem to make up their own language over time.

My Father-in-law is the latter. One of the first things Tim told me about his dad when we started dating was how he had this completely unique language that he has developed over his many years. Sometimes the family plays along (because, by now, they usually know what he's talking about) and other times they seem to have no patience whatsoever for this completely absurd way of speaking. I don't know if anyone has given it an official name, but for posterity's sake, let's call it "Pop-ese."

Pop-ese consists of your standard, everyday fake words such as:

Thingamajig

Whose-ee-what's-it

Eephus geephus (which can really be a noun or a verb)

....the list goes on....

But there are also entire expressions that I honestly have NO idea of their origins, or really even their meanings. They include:

"At the rate of 6-40"

"Since Hector was a pup"

"Palpitations of the gizzard"

"A message for Garcia" (this one, I think, is not very nice. But it must be included.)

...I know there are more, but they seem to be escaping me at the moment.

Anyway. I bring this up because I've really come to enjoy this aspect of Pop's personality lately. I find that we're going through a period in our lives when time is simply moving too quickly and I'm confronted with the fact that these wonderful people who have been a part of our lives for all of our lives will not be here forever. I am very blessed to still have 3 living grandparents who, despite their struggles, have always been healthy and strong in my view.

Christopher and Jake's "Poppie" who has been healthy and strong FOREVER has encountered a bit of a hiccup with his health lately. About two weeks ago he had a cancerous tumor removed from his bladder, and today he learned that his prostate is similarly affected. He will start treatment for both by the end of next week. I honestly do believe that this is nothing more than a hiccup (although it really is a big one) and that, long term, Pop is going to be just fine. But it has gotten me to thinking...

I don't know what is up with this timing - the end of my pregnancy with Christopher was consumed by dealing with my mom's diagnosis and journey with breast cancer. Now at the end of this pregnancy with Jake, we're walking down the same path with Tim's dad. At a time when you're already being hurled at light speed into grown-up land by becoming parents, I see that we're honestly stuck right in the middle - where we get the extreme privilege of caring for and loving family members at both ends of their life. It is a time when our existence will turn into one completely immersed (if we let it) in compassion, love, tenderness, mercy, and even suffering not only for our newborn son, but for our parents who first loved us. Who taught us to love, to serve, to sacrifice, and to CARE.

So my prayers are offered for this member of our family who has been around, at least in his grandchildrens' eyes, Since Hector Was a Pup. Here's to many more long years of serving up a Famous, fried eggs and hash browns on Sunday mornings at Pop's Greasy Spoon, and teaching our children how to attach the eephus mit the geephus.

We love you, Pop.