This time

Kinnie is a month old today. In some ways it seems impossible that she has been in our lives this long, and in others, it feels as though it has been a long month. The learning curve for us, new parents, is quite sharp. I love her more and more every day. She is beginning to get the idea of a smile. It seems to happen in response to our smiles, and a general sense of contentment (usually after her belly is full from a big meal). She is getting stronger and stronger, and I noticed last night when I was changing her that her body is getting thicker. She no longer has chicken legs- there is meat on her bones. She'll hold up her head, and is working on being able to coo. This morning I found her in her bassinet, wide awake, looking around, and making little noises.

I know that Brian and I will look back on this time as some of the most special in our lives. How many families get to stay home together in the first month? This kind of bonding has been precious.

There is something about seemingly unlimited time. For some reason, things don't get done. I have housework I could do, filing of papers, phone calls I should make. But, when it seems that all there is, is time, there is certainly no hurry to get anything done. I am trying to get motivated, but, so far, haven't been very successful beyond taking care of Kinnie. I figure that's the most important thing right now, anyway.

It's not that the bad outweighs the good, not at all. But if I am honest, the tough stuff does impact this time. Brian is still looking for work. He'll be a substitute teacher, if nothing else. But that's not what he really wants, and it doesn't provide for us as well as if he was a contracted, full-time teacher. There is this weight, especially on him. We both wonder how things are going to work out, how we're going to ensure all the bills get paid. I wonder if I'll have to go back to work sooner than I had hoped.

This lack of certainty about what happens next is difficult to live with. I try to stay present, to just enjoy each moment of each day as something special and unique. But there's a lot of down time, when the baby is sleeping, to just think, and wonder. And, it makes it tough to leave the house, because so often leaving the house requires spending some money.

I hope that in another month, I'll be able to look back on this post and think, "I'm so glad this all worked out." I'm still hoping.

On being dynamic

Where did I get the idea that after 22 days of parenting, I would have it down? Do people talk about the realities of being a parent, but we don't listen unless we already are parents? Or is this some big secret left to be found out once you have a child??? Did you know that every day is different? That just because you have three days in a row during which your baby seems adjusted to a routine, that the fourth day can seem like a calamity? I swear no one mentioned that when you are a nursing mom, your milk lets down at the strangest of times- like when you're feeding your dog (she is my first baby...), or looking at your husband's baby book...

Then, there is the issue of what can be accomplished in any given day. I laid in the bath this morning, knowing Kinnie was sound asleep, and pondered what I might get done today. I thought I might paint my toenails, since it has been over a month since my last pedicure. Then, I remembered that I was considering changing our bedsheets. Oh, and there are a couple of loads of laundry to get done.

When I moved to Mexico just under a year ago, sage advice was shared with me. It was that while living in Mexico, one should plan to accomplish just one thing every day. Don't make a huge list of errands to run, because the pace of life may interfere with getting much done at all. I think having a newborn is the same way. Technically, today, I have accomplished eating breakfast, and taking a bath. I probably shouldn't ask for much more, because who knows when my little bundle will awaken, and who knows whether she'll be fussy again this afternoon.

While pondering in my bath, I realized that I need to make a shift in my thinking. I have been anxious almost everyday, anticipating what the day might bring. Am I going to have time for a nap? Is Kinnie going to be wide awake, or sleepy all afternoon? Is she going through an apparent growth spurt, driving her to be hungry much more frequently than two days ago? I can carry these wonderings around with me, and have them weigh on me. Or, I can accept the unpredictability, and roll with it. I learned that lesson well in Mexico. But I forgot it over the last several weeks. Time to relearn, I think. We'll all be happier if Mama can be a little more laid back.

Through all of the ups and downs, when I watch my baby sleep, or when she is lying in my lap, taking in the world, there is nothing better. My heart swells with love, and I am grateful for this new adventure.

Sentiments and sentimentality

My baby will be 3 weeks old tomorrow. It has been a whirlwind and maybe the fastest 21 days of my life. The only way to describe how I feel is to liken the experience to being on vacation. For me, about halfway through a vacation, I start to feel sad that the trip will come to an end. And, at the same time, I try to stay present in every moment, so as not to miss a thing. While, with Kinnie, there is so much to look forward to, I know also that there will be a time, very soon, when I miss the days of her being so tiny, so innocent, and so dependent on us.

She changes every day. She makes more eye contact, watches our faces, watches other things in her world. It is so different from when she wouldn't open her eyes. We spend time every day looking around, looking at each other, talking. She seems as though she wants so badly to open her mouth and put words to what she is thinking.

The adjustment to parenthood is an amazing journey in itself. I think this is especially so for me, because of all the transitions that have occurred in my life in the last year. I barely had time to get back from Mexico and get used to life in the States again before Kinnie was born. I feel as though my time away strengthened my sense of self, but I'll admit that reinventing my identity with the inclusion of "mom" challenges me. How do the two sides of me fit together? I think this will take some time, and a return to some sense of normalcy in life. The challenge is greater still because neither Brian or I are currently employed. That adds more questions to the already muddy picture.

Ultimately, these things will work out, I'm sure. And in the meantime, I am trying to cherish every moment, because the most consistent advice I have received is that time passes too quickly. So tonight I will squeeze my tiny baby tight, and ingrain that feeling into my heart.

The day She arrived

My daughter, Kinnie, was born two weeks ago today. It has been the most amazing, beautiful, emotional two weeks of my life.

Two weeks ago today, I awakened with pain in my back. I had been having contractions on and off through the night. However, a week prior, I had been to the hospital with contractions, which turned out not to be labor. So, because Kinnie was not due for another two weeks, I assumed that this again would be a false alarm. I went to the basement, laid on the couch, and turned on the TV. As the morning progressed, so did my contractions. I did not want to make another unneeded trip to the hospital, so I did everything I had read to slow them. I laid down, I went for a walk, I took a warm bath. All to no avail. By late morning, Brian and I decided to call my doctor's office. They agreed to see me.

By the time we arrived there, my contractions were occurring every 4 minutes or so, and were painful. I was checked by a nurse midwife, who advised that we head to Labor and Delivery to be monitored. When we got there, things started happening fast. I was placed on monitors, had an IV started, and was bombarded with nurses and doctors preparing me for my c-section. It was about the time that they had Brian dress in scrubs that I asked if we were headed to surgery quickly. I was told that, indeed, we were, and that my case had bumped others out of line.

I was wheeled to the operating room, with Brian at my side. When we had our false alarm a week earlier, my whole family arrived within an hour. This day, no one had had a chance to get to the hospital yet. We got to the operating room and I got out of the wheelchair and walked to the operating table. It was cold and sterile, but for the warmth of the staff in the room, who seemed to see this as a beautiful surgery, insomuch as a surgery can be beautiful.

It was the most surreal experience, and yet one of the most vivid memories I have. I sat on the table as I was given a spinal block. I cried a little, not because of the pain, but because everything was happening so fast, and I was scared. My legs quickly went numb, starting at my feet, the numbness working it's way up to my lower ribs. The nurses and doctors laid me down. My arms, which I could still feel and control, were laid out on either side of me, and a drape was placed across my chest so that I could not see anything below my arms.

My doctor and others gathered around me, and I could feel the prodding and pushing on my abdomen as they prepared to make my incision. The sensation was indescribable. I felt no pain. But I felt that there was a lot going on behind the drape.

My mom arrived just before they began the surgery, and was allowed in the operating room with us. I was so grateful that she and Brian were right next to me.

Things were relatively quiet as the surgery began. Within a few minutes, though, Kinnie was pulled from my belly. The anesthesiologist pulled down the drape to let me see her, just for a moment. Then she was taken aside, and Brian and my mom went with her. She was cleaned up and checked out, while my doctor began to sew me up. Kinnie was talkative as they worked on her, but didn't cry.

The moment that is most clear is when they brought her to me, and laid her on my chest. I was still in the middle of surgery, and couldn't hold her. But her cheek was against mine, her heart next to mine. Tears welled up as I felt something new, and something I could not have imagined. She was so soft. She was here, and safe, and healthy. The hardest part was over.

Kinnie was taken to the recovery room while I remained in the operating room for another 15 minutes. I joined her then, along with Brian and my mom. We were all in awe of this little being. She weight 6 pounds 13 ounces, and was 19 inches long. She had long hair, that was a medium brown color. She had adorable rosebud lips, big cheeks, and a button nose.

The rest of the day was spent with family visiting, meeting Kinnie. I was so grateful that on her first day of life, she was held by so many people who adore and love her. We didn't sleep until 2 in the morning, not because Kinnie kept us awake, but because of the emotions we were riding.

It was the best day of my life.