Baby G2 Is Here

Donovan Joseph was born Aug. 11 and weighed in at a mere 9lbs 13 oz. Oh yeah, that's right almost 10 lbs and no prediction from the Dr. this time. I had a great birth experience despite being induced for a second time. (I tease my husband that he has gifted our kids the "late gene" that seems to plague him since both children were induced after 8 days late.) It has been an incredible roller coaster ride since.

As you can imagine, the adjustment from one child household to two has been pretty . . . Challenging. Challenging in an exciting, new, exhausting, feeling like I have a purpose kind of way. First there was the anticipation around Izzy meeting her new big brother. How would she take to being a big sister? Then there was the anxiety of introducing our "little" baby to Willow. And now, 5 weeks later, I'm wrapping my head around how do I balance chasing the toddler and nursing a voracious infant on my own.

Izzy was instantly in love with "baby" when she met him. In fact, it's hard to keep her from disrupting his sleeping and eating because she wants to hold him, or give him paci. Maybe because I'm exclusively breast feeding, but she has yet to try to feed the baby. I knew watching her interactions with him would be adorable, but it literally brings tears to my eyes when she tries to console him while he cries; her sweet little voice repeating my phrases like, I know, It's ok baby, Don't cry. Her little eyebrows go up in the center with real concern for her baby brother. And I'm super spoiled because she's such a helper. She insists on throwing away diapers, or retrieving things that are just out of reach for me. Of course we're always with her when she's interacting with Donovan, she tends to pet his head, which is more like a grab. She isn't trying to be rough, she's just too young to control her hand movements just yet. So even though I find myself constantly supervising and hovering, it couldn't be more rewarding to see how happy she is with her brother. And soon we'll see how happy he is with her. Something tells me they will be a dynamic duo who find trouble together.

Speaking of trouble, Willow our 90 lb lovable lab has been just that. She's a doting momma dog who follows me and the baby around without jumping up and snatching the baby's socks. When We brought Izzy home from the hospital there was an infamous incident of Willow taking Izzy's sock from her feet while I was holding her. I raced upstairs and hid in my room with the baby for several months after that. It was so bad that when we had visitors they came to our bedroom and I didn't dare venture downstairs. I thought I was going to give my dog away. (For the record Dakota was awesome and never a cause for concern.) After months of training and confidence building we were finally able to peacefully coexist on the same floor. Willow is amazing with Izzy. She lets Izzy pull at her ears and give her lots of kisses. But I had doubts that brining another baby home would be a smooth transition. I'm not usually so happy to be wrong, but Willow has been a star. She checks on the baby, but doesn't chase me down when I'm holding the baby. She greets all visitors with manners and doesn't knock people over even though she's slightly starved for attention. (I'm just one person after all.) The only tricky thing now is getting her exercise in while taking care of everyone else.

For the first time, I had all four of my babies home with just me to watch over them. Izzy has been going to daycare to keep her routine the same and keep her mentally stimulated. So most days it's me, Donovan, and my two fur babies. On Tuesday, I decided to take a trial run at having all of them home with me. I was nervous that the day would lead to an emotional wreck of a mom, and two neglected children. So not the case! I managed to play with Izzy, teach her to draw circles, feed the baby on demand, get the dishwasher fixed, and spend time with the dogs without anyone having a meltdown. It was encouraging and exhausting, but I was so happy to have done it. I'm thinking of trying again next week. I learned a lot about anticipating what the kids need, keeping them on a schedule, and having purposeful playtime for Izzy.

So while I have not yet had more than 4 consecutive hours of sleep, and I have a to do list a mile long, I'm feeling really great about all the changes. The fear in change is really a fear of the unknown. But as each day passes, and I learn something new, the fear dissipates. I am becoming more confident and comfortable with the change. And someday, who knows, maybe I'll look back and decide that it was easy?

Oh, a hiccup, I must be going into labor . . .

The countdown of days begins. I'm nine days away from due date. Like I mentioned in my previous post, the dates just an estimate, so really any day could be The Day. And what I find funny are the possible labor queues that are completely irrational. This morning I felt nauseous and threw up in my mouth a bit. Yesterday I had a ton of energy to get stuff done around the house. Last night I woke up every hour. All very silly, but deeply seeded in my head is that each occurrence, although only slightly different than normal, could be a sign that I'm going into labor. 

It's so funny to read/hear about signs that make women think they're going into labor. Some of them are a little too personal to post about, but here are a few of my favorites:

- Baby's movement has slowed down, he must be resting up for his departure.

- I'm frantically cleaning (or as people in the know refer to it as nesting) and organizing every little shelf in my home. Presumably this happens because once baby's here I'll be far too busy to do it. 

- Wild surges of hormones that make me cry and mutter through sobs about how terrible of a (insert mom, employee, wife here) I am or will be. Not sure how this corresponds to impending labor, for some reason being a little more crazy makes me think that baby should be here soon. Because I need to be less crazy. 

- Overwhelming my 21 month old with cuddles and kisses. I always give her plenty of attention, but lately I can't stop squeezing her or holding her. Part of me thinks that I'm banking all the squeezes I can now because when baby 2 is here I won't have the same amount of time to spend with her. I check on her every night before bed. Lately I find that I'm lingering crib side just watching her sleep. 

So between the screwy antics, and the discomfort of late pregnancy I'm thinking this baby will be here any day. I'm sure I'll eat my words. I'm sure he'll decide it's best to be a mid-August baby and he'll take his time arriving. But I'm certain he'll be here before August 2. And I'm sure the brunt of that is wishful thinking. 

38 weeks

Just like many other pregnant women, my eyes have been glued to the calendar. For several weeks now I have been counting down to the big due date. August 2 is the date that I've highlighted in red circles on every calendar I own. The calendar in my office, that's nearly as large as my white board has DUE DATE emblazoned on August 2 so no one misses it. Now that I’m just 14 days away, my electronic calendars notify me daily that I’m one day closer to “The Big Day.” All this preparation for a day that is just an estimate. I’ve heard all sorts of statistics, 10% give birth on their due date, 50% give birth after, 30% of babies come before their due date. The numbers never seem to add up, but it does add to the fact that the estimated due date should be considered more of a time frame to be on alert than the date you will have your baby.

With my first pregnancy, I was on watch from a week before due date up until 9 days after due date when I was induced. With each passing day I grew more anxious, and more frustrated that my body wasn’t complying with the date issued by the doctor. Going through this a second time, however, has changed my outlook quite a bit. I’m not expecting baby to come on August 2, I’m not expecting that he’ll be early, or late. All I want is for him to come when he’s ready and for him to be healthy. Now, will I get frustrated if I’m late? Probably. I don’t want to deal with the doctor telling me he’s huge and I have to be induced. Will I freak out if he’s early and I’m not prepared? Probably. But with the knowledge that there is no way to predict his arrival (other than medical intervention) I just have to hang in there.

It’s different for me this time around. With Izzy I didn’t try any of the natural induction methods until I was overdue. I didn’t want to go walking for fear that she’d show up before she was supposed to. I didn’t want to complain about fatigue and aches because I thought I wasn’t showing my appreciation for the gift that would soon arrive. Conversely, I remember wanting everything 100% ready for her arrival. Her bedroom even had paintings on the walls courtesy of yours truly. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate this little guy, but I feel as though all the preparation became a mental block for me. If I wasn’t done with negotiating a contract at work (final contract signed two days before induction with Izzy) then I wasn’t ready to give birth. This time I want to be ready for the obstacles and challenges that need preparation, but I don’t want to put birth on hold while I make everything perfect. I’m sure it sounds a little silly, especially when it’s not up to be when he arrives, but I’m trying my hardest to accept that he’ll be here whenever. He’ll make his appearance regardless if Izzy’s toys are still sitting in his pack and play, or if I haven’t packed my hospital bag. Maybe he’ll be here August 2 even. All that matters to me is that he will be healthy. 

Am I Overbearing?

We had an absolutely blissful week of vacation in Biddeford Maine. It's one of my favorite places in the world and for the second time I got to enjoy it from a whole new perspective. I watched in amazement as Izzy discovered the beach and the ocean, the rocks and the seaweed. We went up last year, but now that Izzy is super mobile, it was a brand new experience.
I caught a few moments here and there on my iPhone. Viewing the video brings back the excitement and wonder as I hit play over and over. After viewing one of the many videos for probably the millionth time I caught something. On three or four separate occasions you hear my voice warning Izzy to be careful about what she was doing. My fear was that she would fall and get hurt, but there were several times where you hear me calling out to her, cautioning her to "Go Slow!", "Easy!" "Be Careful!". I only noticed it because there's also a clip of my aunt following up my cautionary statements with, "Oh come on, it's a beach."
She's right. It was a beach and my over cautious, borderline over bearing,  frantic warnings weren't making for a more enjoyable experience for anyone. Part of me wants to blame pregnancy hormones for my anxiety and constant direction to Izzy. (Seriously, I'm starting to think I've been touched by the crazy preggo fairies. I had to sit behind my husband while he drove to Maine so I didn't drive him crazy.)
But really I know it's part of my personality. I've always been super cautious, and now I'm scarred from the seeing Izzy get a few bumps or bruises along the way. With laser like focus I hone in on any obstacle that could be in her way, adeptly moving it from her path or guiding her around it. I see scraped knees from hidden rocks and sea glass when most people see a beach. I see choking hazards, when others think wouldn't it be nice to give Izzy this tiny piece of candy. Yes, it's part of my job to protect her, and to watch out for her. But when does it become over protective and over bearing?
For me the video is proof that I need to "relax" as my super mellow husband would say. At first I was upset that I ruined these precious moments on camera by picking on myself and looking at the negative. Now I'm glad that I noticed because I can be cognizant that I go a little overboard, and hopefully reign it in. The videos can still bring the same amount of joy, watching Izzy with an ear to ear grin as she dances in the sand and splashes in the ocean can't be altered. And noting that I need to tone it down is kind of a gift.

Dancing in the Park

I'm one of those people who pack their days with chores and activities, live by my routine and rarely take divert from the schedule. And while this process works really well for a toddler who expects consistency and routine, I learned that an occasional divergence can be a lot of fun.
Each summer out town sponsors a weekly concert series on the green. (Doesn't every town have a "green"?) We just happen to live a half mile away and each summer I walk (or run) past it since it fell during my workout time. Last summer I spyed on the band members setting up as a jogged by with Izzy in the stroller. I never felt like we could stop and enjoy because I had a workout to finish and Izzy had a bedtime to be punctual for.
I was reminded about the concert series on my way to daycare by a sign proclaiming "Free Concert Tonite". At first I was just irked that they misspelled tonight, then I lightened up a bit and thought, hey I could juggle some stuff and Izzy and I could enjoy a nice concert. After all, what toddler doesn't love to the bounce or off rhythm sway to music?
Juggling meant an early dinner for Izzy and a lunchtime walk for the dogs. Normally Izzy doesn't eat until just before bed, and Willow gets her walk with Izzy and I. Fortunately, Izzy must have been super hungry and chowed down everything I gave her. I did have to coax her into the highchair with the promise of a juice box, but seeing her eat everything was totally worth it. Unfortunately, we left the house without Willow and suffered through her howling of misery while I got Izzy situated in the stroller. The guilt from leaving my dogs behind is unbearable when they cry and paw at the door, but I wasn't sure I could handle a toddler running around and an energetic 90lbs lab by myself.
We made our quick trip down the hill just in time to hear the Star Spangled Banner and we were seated in time for the concert to begin. It didn't matter that the band had, noticeably, only learned some of the songs the week before, or that the conductor was so winded after each song that he could barely introduce the next. All that mattered was the big smile on Izzy's face as she did the toddler sway, rocking side to side and she'd pick up one foot at a time completely out of time with the music. Her contagious smile, and adorable giggles made me the happiest mom in the world. She'd clap and yell "yay' whenever a song finished, and run to me and give me big hugs and kisses as if to say thank you mom for a fun night.
We left at intermission since it was already past her bedtime and I knew the climb up the hill would take much longer then the way down. At 33 weeks pregnant I may still be mobile, but with an extra 22 lbs to carry around, and a baby squashing my lungs, it certainly takes me longer to get places. Bedtime was quick. A little kiss and a hug and off to sleep she went.
What a night. I learned that switching up the routine isn't earth-shattering and can have really positive effects. It was great to watch Izzy enjoy an activity for a change. We don't normally get to do that during the week. I was also able to appreciate what my town offers. Normally there is no time to meet neighbors or visit with the community, but we had a chance to be around other families and it was so easy. It was just a 5 minute walk (15 minutes back, it's a really big hill) to a delightful evening and I didn't pay a dime.
I can't wait to do it again.

Freaking Out!

OK, so I'm not in full freak out mode, but close enough that I have to get it all out.
Baby G2 is due in eight weeks. That means that eight weeks from today I'll most likely be in tears hoping this kid doesn't pull an Izzy and show up after an induction and nine days late. It also means that I have only eight weeks to get ready for his arrival. And it's safe to say that I've done close to nothing. (Intro irrational fear that I will have nothing ready in time for baby and will be completely unprepared.)
Maybe I've been dragging my feet because there isn't as much pressure with baby number two? When I was pregnant with Izzy there was an urge to have everything absolutely perfect upon her arrival. A painted room with lovely pink and green details to welcome our newest blessing. Truth be told she didn't enter that room until she was four months old. So maybe I don't feel that it's necessary that his room is ready before he gets here? Or maybe it's that I've been so crazed chasing after Izzy and working full time that I haven't wanted to add to my mental stress load? Currently I feel like the worst sister ever because it's been a month since my sister Sarah  had a birthday and I've yet to give her a present. If I can't focus even 20 minutes to get her something nice, why should I pour energy into prepping a room for a baby who won't be in it for another six months. And this also hints at the notion that I'm terrified to take focus away from Izzy or work for fear that Izzy would feel left out and work would spiral out of control. (Just yesterday I finally had a conversation with my boss about handing work over, with Izzy that conversation happened during the second trimester, not eight weeks before due date.)
Besides being overwhelmed with the daily routine or the knowledge I have from my first pregnancy that not everything has to be perfect, I still find myself nearing the edge of panic. It's the same feeling I get as I'm pushing myself to go out and play in the ocean. If you've been to the beach with me, you've probably been embarrassed to be with me as I try to will my body towards the crashing waves. I start gasping for air the second my toes touch the cold waves. My eyes are darting around wondering what obstacles are lurking, masked by seaweed, that I can't predict. Then the shrieking starts. I think something touched my toes, must have been a carnivorous fish!
That's how I feel right now. I've done this before, but I'm still scared. I know how to prepare myself, but the farther I wade into the blue, the more I want to turn and run to the safety of the sand. It's almost as though the less I do to prepare, the more I don't have to face what could be overwhelming and challenging. I know it's time to face my fear of having another baby because that must be at the root of my apprehension. Fear is what stops us all from progressing. So maybe it's like running into the ocean when you're terrified of what could be out there. Sure I may shriek and want to bolt for the safety of what I know, but I need to keep pushing until I find the freedom in letting a wave swallow me up. After all, nothing beats the exhilaration and sense of accomplishment of playing in the ocean.

"Oh Just You Wait"

There is nothing I find less supportive than the phrase, "Oh just you wait." Pregnancy, the time in your life where you're questioning everything and confident about little, seems to be when I've heard this bogus support line the most.
Here's how most conversations go.
Seemingly interested supportive friend, family member or just nosey passerby, "Wow, you're pretty far along, how much longer do you have?"
Seems innocent right? Don't drop your guard yet, regardless of your answer, there's only one line this type of person fires back.
Me, "Three more months, I'm due in August."
Seemingly supportive person who's about to flip roles, "Oh just you wait. You're going to have to deal with the hot weather, and your feet are going to swell, and don't forget you will never be able to get comfortable."
And bam, the supportive train has just derailed and you're faced with one of those people whose only purpose is to make you feel like you could never be prepared enough for what lies ahead. There's no getting this train back on the track, you're bewildered and the ensuing conversation is generally a nod or smile while you try to figure out what just happened. If you're like me than your defenses are in overdrive and you're refuting any possibility that there could be challenges ahead. I've found myself telling people I love the heat and humidity more often than a newborn needs their diaper changed.
This conversation, in various forms, happens so frequently lately. Whoever thought, "How was your Mother's Day" would be a trap for the just you waits? I'm now on edge talking to the "just you waits" and usually prepared to give them a verbal wallop back. Sure people chock it up to the hormones, but what if you were constantly put on the spot and told, whatever you're going through right now will be so much worse in a few months. Whatever happiness you feel about your exciting new adventure, curb it, because it's not all rainbows, sunshine and butterflies.
I think it's the dubious nature of the question that bothers me so much. Here I am innocently thinking someone cares what I'm going through only to be slammed with a comment that makes me feel foolish for feeling one way or another. The comment even has a way of making the most neutral response feel as though it was very wrong to feel a certain way.
My suggestion to all those who ask someone how they are doing, or feeling, to do it genuinely. You shouldn't have a hidden agenda to launch into how things are tough for you or to let off some of your negative steam. Acknowledge their response as something that person owns and you can't possibly be the person to judge how they are feeling or will be feeling. I think the sentiment of walking a mile in their shoes fits nicely here because unless you're in my exact same predicament, coupled with all my experiences to date, you couldn't possibly know what lies ahead of me, and you couldn't possibly tell me to wait for something to get more challenging.