Thoughts on Sleep

My biggest thought on sleep these days is, it's really shocking how well my body remembers how to function on minimal sleep. Which is not to say I'm functioning WELL, but that I am LIGHT YEARS ahead of where I was at this point with Grace. She was, admittedly, much much fussier, and her sleep was a lot worse, but she was also our only concern, and I could sleep when she slept. (Although, to play Devil's advocate with myself, I also have LOTS more practice at the whole, "ok, she's sleeping, take a nap NOW!!!!" thing.) All I know is, it's just not as overwhelming as it was the first time around.

Katie is not really a better sleeper than Grace at three weeks old. She's not one of those babies who's born knowing how to sleep, even if she acted like she might be, for a little while. The trick, like I said, is that she's far less fussy, so co-sleeping is an option. Co-sleeping was never an option with Grace, because she screamed as much in our bed as she did anywhere else. For the record, I totally hate co-sleeping. I've taken care of too many babies who rolled off the bed and cracked their heads than I can even count, not to mention the worries about pillows and heavy blankets and smothering and overheating and just plain not being able to roll onto my stomach, put the pillow over my head, and pull the blankets up to my neck. So I'd really like to stop this as soon as possible...I'm just not sure that's going to be possible very soon.

And when the time DOES come to get her to sleep in the cradle at the foot of the bed, or in her crib in her own room? Oh man. It's gonna suck. At the same time, I feel like there's this tiny window, where I need to do it before she's firmly convinced she needs to sleep with me for the rest of my life, but after she's old enough to be able to do it (and have it actually be worth the sleep deprivation). My mom thinks she's ready now. I know there's a school of thought that she should be in my bed until she decides to leave, even if that happens when she's, like, eighteen years old. To me, the right answer is somewhere in the middle. I just haven't decided where. To be honest, it's not so much feeling bad about it, as it is wanting to have it all go as smoothly as possible, and I don't think there's any one answer to that.

...Although? I say that now, but we all know I'm a lot softer than I try to make myself out to be. And I thought I'd toughened up about some things, but nope. Just today, my mom stopped by and offered to take one of the girls. Grace promptly LOST HER MIND, and I had two bottles that didn't get used when we went out to dinner last night, so I sent Katie with her. It used to be almost physically painful to leave Gracie, especially when I went back to work. Eventually, it got easier, and I actually enjoyed my time away (like ALL parents should). I thought it would be easy-peasy with Katie, what with all the practice I have. Nope. I almost stopped my mom at least five times between deciding to send Katie with her and having them actually walk out the door. It sucked. I'm SO glad I did it, though, because Grace and I had a great morning and got a lot done.

And I guess that's the rub, no matter what you're talking about when it comes to parenthood. Sigh. You'd think two years after becoming a mom, I'd stop being shocked by how difficult it is.

Segundo

I've been thinking a lot about what's different between having your first and second baby. Not in the specific sense, like, "I craved cereal with Grace but never wanted it with Katie," but more in the general sense.

I know a lot of people really worry about adding a second child to their family- will they love the baby as much? And worry about how it totally rocks the first child's world. I really didn't worry about that- maybe because I'm the second child and it's impossible for me to believe that I am anything but the sunshine of my family's life? Heh. Probably. I did feel a little bit sad about the one-on-one time with Gabba going away- being home four days a week, we had a little routine, and lots of time together, and it did make me sad to think about losing that.

Pregnancy was much easier the second time around. I mean, objectively it really wasn't, not at all. I was much, much more tired, the nausea was worse, and there obviously wasn't as much lounging time as there was the first time. It was emotionally easier, though. I didn't expect it to all be fun, I knew it would be unpleasant, and I didn't really fight it. I knew to just kind of focus on the fun parts. I really, REALLY liked that I didn't have to build a baby registry, that people weren't so interested in my nursery theme, all of that first-baby pressure that I absolutely HATED, was gone. Good riddance. It also helped that we didn't move when I was 36 weeks pregnant.

Recovery was a LOT easier this time around, too. I am not sure how much of that was the weight difference, with Katie being over a pound smaller than Gracie, and how much of it was just coincidence? Because I can say for sure, the hormone dump was not nearly as brutal this time around as it was last time. I really don't know how much of that was sleep deprivation the first time, in retrospect.

Which leads to my next point- Katie is a much, MUCH easier baby than Gracie was. I know people want to think that Gracie's fussiness was because of our tension, and I get that. People want to think they'll never have a baby that fussy, and they think that surely you can influence your newborn and keep them from being that fussy. I would have been the same way if Katie came before Gracie. But seriously, just trust me on this: Katie is just easier. And if she were our first, we would lie in bed til noon every day, and then I'd spend the rest of the day sitting on the couch and just staring at her. But she's not our first, and I am constantly trying to figure out how much to tell Gracie to just hold on, and how often Katie just needs to fuss awhile so I can dote on Gracie. That part stinks, because no matter what, I end up feeling guilty.

The best part, though, about the second time around? People actually take you seriously. When I called the doctor to say, hey, wtf, I've been having contractions all day, but they keep spacing out and bunching up and spacing out and bunching up, the nurse skeptically asked me which baby this was for me. When I told her my second, her whole tone changed. When I took Katie for her two-week check-up and voiced concerns about her stuffy nose and puking, the response was totally different from any response I ever got about Grace. The first time, people assume you're being a spaz. The second time, people assume you probably have a point. That's a really nice change.

Well. that's the second best part, anyway.

We Should All Have Something

I really think everyone should have something they're really, really good at.

For most of my life, I didn't really have anything. I'm just...really average. I am horrible at sports (esp. anything involving a ball, it's a depth-perception issue). I am good at school, but not great. Reasonably intelligent, but not super-smart. Took voice lessons for three years in high school and was just above average (and now, can't carry a tune in a bucket, for the record), took piano lessons for four years and oh my god was I horrible...just, yeah. Really average. Which is fine, but kinda sad, right?

But now, in my thirties, I have found my gift.

I can out-lactate EVERYONE. My body makes milk like it's getting paidd. Cows across America hang their heads in shame.

It's my superpower. I am a Dairy Queen.

Before I Forget, Part Two

Okay, so I know these little nuggets are really not interesting to anyone other than me, but they're the funny things I really want to remember, so, you know, bear with me. (or don't, and come back in a month;)

After Gracie was born, I said that I wanted to labor with my next baby during the day. Partly because I wanted to remember the experience, partly because I didn't want to have to use the answering service for my doctor, and partly because laboring all night long is frigging exhausting and just gets everything off on the WRONG foot. So, when I woke up at 4am with the first painful contractions with Katie, well, that wasn't reeeeally daytime, but I was excited to know I'd probably be laboring during the day.

Of course, the contractions spread out and bunched up and spread out and bunched up, and I didn't know WHAT to think. I finally called the doctor at 2pm, and was super excited to have them tell me to come in, rather than going to OB triage. (bummed that my primary doc wasn't in the office that day, but that's neither here nor there.)

Stephen and I got in the car and headed to the office, in the swanky office just a few doors down from the hospital. I was having awful contractions all the way there, and at that point, was going on eight hours of painful contractions, mostly about 4-6 minutes apart, 10 minutes apart at the most. Which is to say, I was IRRITABLE. Go to get on the elevator in the garage, where, seriously??? I can count on one hand the number of times other people have been on that elevator with me. This time? Three people and a stroller come piling on. Jabbering in some Nordic language. I was shooting daggers at Stephen across the elevator (because it was his fault? I don't know. I guess I wasn't irritable enough yet to shoot daggers at strangers.) Then, they suddenly switched to English and started talking about doing their taxes. THEN?! The elevator stopped again, and this woman piled into the elevator with her roughly ten year old daughter. (and in case you were wondering, NO, there was NOT room for them.) We complete the world's longest three-floor elevator ride, pile off, and Stephen tells me we should really wait for all those people to get on the office elevators before we get on (maybe I WAS shooting daggers at strangers? heh. he was pretty insistent.) I was trying to ignore him, because I was crabby and not interested in being helped. However, my body had other plans and slammed me with a huge contraction. I gripped the corner of the wall and steeled myself, just in time to see ALL of our elevator mates turn and STARE at me. If looks could kill, I would be blogging from prison.

Seriously, EVERY OTHER TIME I took those elevator trips, I MIGHT have seen two other people the whole time. WTF?!

So THEN, I go to the doctor, where the office was shockingly expeditious (first time for everything, I guess), and we get sent to the hospital. Going back thru the garage, we actually walk past another person on the little walkway to the car- for the record, that has NEVER happened. Of course, right as he's approaching, here comes a contraction. Being a concerned human being, he stopped just after he passed us to make sure we were okay. "Keep on walking," I snarled under my breath, FILLED WITH RAGE over his concern. Stephen smiled and said, "We're okay!! THANKS!!!"

"EVERYBODY IS REALLY PISSING ME OFF, PONES."

"I know. Let's just go to the car."

When did my labor become a sitcom? I don't know, but I guess I should be glad we didn't get trapped in the elevator, forcing my new Scandinavian friends to deliver Katie.

Curse You, Day/Night Confusion!!

So, true story: about three or four nights ago, Katie slept thru the night. Or would have, if I'd let her. I woke her up twice to eat so her brain would not be all hypoglycemic and damaged, as I tend to be picky about that. I knew that wouldn't last, but it was pretty freaking awesome.

Aaaand then, we approached our due date. And she got her sister's bubble nose. More awake baby plus stuffy head equals not such good sleep.

I mean, no. She sleeps like an angel all day long. Has some brief awake periods, but mostly is just comatose. Then, around 10pm, she wakes up. At first, she fools me, because she seems all normal. Then she eats, and while she's eating, she gets super worked up. She starts panting and her stuffy nose goes crazy and she makes so much noise, you can hear her down the hall. Then she gets really restless and uncomfortable. She stretches out and writhes around and cries out occasionally and then she poops, and you THINK she'll be okay then, but she's NOT! Not yet. She still needs to writhe around awhile and feel pissed off. This lasts until about midnght or 1am, when she finally falls into a fitful sleep. She wakes up several hours later, and either repeats the routine, or is just wide awake and looking around, but that also trips off the bubble nose, and so her breathing sounds like a jet trying to take off. She's also not super interested in eating, which is a darn shame, because at that point I have prepared her the equivalent of a Roman feast, and when she won't eat it, well, that's a bit uncomfortable. She finally falls asleep again, only to go thru it all again around 5 or 6. Lather, rinse, repeat.

And SERIOUSLY: I should not complain. Compared to Grace's early days, this is still cake. But darnit, I am TIRED. And then, as a result of all that night waking, I am staying in bed til 8 or later, which is too late. Stephen will be going back to work soon, and that just flat-out won't work. After we get up, I feed her, and then I have to pump, both to maintain a supply that I know she's going to want eventually, and also just for my own comfort, because it HURTS to leave all that sitting there. Plus it really freaks Grace out and just does not start the day off on the right foot. She doesn't understand why I'm not coming downstairs by 7am like I usually do, and although she is THRILLED to have her daddy's undivided attention, it just weirds her out. She also doesn't like it when I come down the stairs carrying two bottles of milk and don't let her have them. The screaming, carrying on, and cries for "nawk, PEEEEASE!! Pease mama, nawk!!!" are totally heartbreaking. (seriously: I have no idea why she wants the milk so badly. it's weird. I would just give it to her so she could get over her curiosity, but probably, it would just make her want it more and also, who the hell just throws away pumped milk? Good Lord.)

Before I Forget

because I DO keep forgetting, I need to record this little nugget from Katie's delivery for posterity:

When we went to the hospital, and I finally, finally, finally had the epidural, an adorable little pocket-sized medical student came in to see us. Wearing the requisite, ridiculous waist-length coat, looking far too perky for the situation, she came over to introduce herself. I had propped myself forward, the doctor had just broken my water, and I was perfectly comfortable, but it was odd timing. As she approached me, she stopped talking for a second, then laughed and said, "sorry! fumes got to me for a second there...." and proceeded to introduce herself to us. After she left, Stephen was all, wtf dude?!?! Who SAYS that?! And although I'd had the same initial thought, I started cracking up, explaining that she'd just used the alcohol-based hand gel, and those were the fumes she was referring to.

Medical students. They're so cute, couldn't you just PINCH them??

(and for the record, we never did see her again. Too bad. She missed a kickass delivery.)

39 weeks

You know how you get to that point, in every pregnancy, where you are just DONE? You're sick of peeing all the time, you can't sleep, you wish you could stop smelling your next door neighbor's cologne from your couch, all of that?

Yeah, I never got there with this pregnancy.

After Grace was born, and I was shocked to find myself heartbroken over no longer being pregnant, I swore to myself that I would enjoy my next pregnancy. I prepared myself and talked it up, and remembered all the good stuff to get in the right mindset, and it really worked. It helped that it took us longer to get pregnant this time than it did with Gracie, for sure, but a lot of it was the constant pep talks. I was nauseous longer, more exhausted, and had various other unpleasant symptoms this time around that I didn't have last time, but really, it was also a dreamy pregnancy in so many ways, and my focus was on all the good stuff.

Appointments were fun and exciting- sitting in the waiting room with all the other pregnant women, feeling all special, hearing the heartbeat, scheduling ultrasounds. My baby bump this time was cute and round and perfect, just like last time, but this time, I spent endless amounts of time just staring at it and rubbing it- I was cute, and I knew it. So much of the pressure that goes with a first pregnancy- making a registry, building a nursery, not knowing what to expect from anything- gone. This time, it was just about the anticipation of the baby, and it was so, so awesome.

I am thrilled to be sitting here, snuggling with my squishy newborn. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling really, really sad about not being pregnant anymore. I miss my bump. I miss out on two whole fun appointments! I miss the anticipation. It's a ridiculous thing to feel sad about, but...there you have it.