Losing!

Let's recap today, shall we?

Grace continues with the hideous lower GI bug she's had since sunday. It's....messy. NOT as messy as it would be if she were also puking, so thank god for small favors, but it's gross and she doesn't feel good. She's highly uninterested in liquids, too- hates gatorade, doesn't want water, I even tried bribing her with "bubble juice" (aka Sprite) and got minimal sips. She did eat most of a popsicle for lunch, but that was basically it. She is alternating between lying on the couch with glassy eyes and trying to run around like a crazy person.

In the meantime, Katie has been screaming bloody murder all day long unless she's lying next to a naked boob. Possibly nursing, possibly not, BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT SHE NEEDS BOOB. The swing is a profound, personal insult. Ditto to the front carrier. Rocking, swaying, patting- do not make me laugh. It makes it a bit of a challenge to take care of the sick child, to say the least. Especially when I am absolutely certain that if the younger child were to get sick with the same bug, we WOULD buy ourselves a hospital stay and have been obsessively washing hands and refraining from cross-contamination of any kind.

Before Grace turned into a human poop fountain, one of my friends was going to come meet Katie tonight, so this morning I quick ran a mop over the floor. Except I did not realize until after I had mopped the entire first floor that the mop head needs to be replaced, so now half of our house smells like a dirty rag.

Oh, and also, I took the girls out this morning to pick up the cat's Prozac and some Sprite for Grace (which she won't drink, of course), and did not realize until I got home that the vet called in a refill for Xanax. A prescription they gave me once that I never actually filled.

Currently, Katie is in her favored position of the day, Grace is taking a nap, and I am breathing through my mouth.

I really don't like the newborn stage.

(and before anyone suggests it: I can't take the Xanax while I'm breastfeeding.)

The Happiest Day

You know how people always refer to their wedding day, or the day their kids were born, as the happiest day of their lives? I've done it too, and it makes sense, because those are really big, happy occasions.

...But, really? Weddings are stressful. There are always glitches, there's so much PRESSURE. And the days that my girls were born were happy days, but there's, um, a bit of discomfort involved with the whole process, too.

So to be accurate, I think the day when I felt the most overwhelming, unqualified, all-encompassing happiness was three years ago, today.

A Month Later...

I really want to commit Katie's birth story to memory in one single place. I know all y'all have heard it before, just bear with me;)

I was so determined to go late with her, I should have known she would come early. The wednesday before I went into labor, I was telling everyone who would listen that I could easily go for another month feeling the way I did. Then I went went for the internal exam that changed it all, heh...

I know the doctor expected me to be more dilated than I was at that appointment, but when she told me I was dilated at all, it made me nervous. I have this totally unfounded theory that women either dilate slowly ahead of time, or all at once, and since I was an "all at once" with Gracie, and went into labor within days of being told I'd started dilating, I worried I wouldn't go late after all. When I had all kinds of crazy pressure the rest of the day and night, I worried I wouldn't even make it til March. But denial is a strong thing, and even though my BFF the L&D nurse kept saying, "Um. You might want to consider that you're in labor...", I laughed and said, "oh, PISH. Cervix of steel, remember?!"

4am on February 25th, I was rudely awakened by painful contractions. I told myself it was just false labor from the exam, but I knew better. I don't even really remember if I had any more contractions while I laid in bed, but I was so amped up I couldn't fall asleep again. And all I could think was, dangit, I really wanted a March baby!!

I got showered and dressed and ready for work as if nothing was happening- if it WAS false labor, I was going to feel like a complete jackass if I stayed home and acted like I was maybe in labor. I had contractions the whole time, but tried to write it all off. I carried Grace down the stairs, I was bending over too far and too long, etc...but I also painted my toenails, just to be safe. I told Stephen I didn't think I"d make it til March, but I was NOT in labor, and he should go to sleep. I didn't think he believed me, but I guess I was more convincing than I felt, because he actually did get some sleep that day, thank GOD.

I went to work and the contractions started in earnest. Everyone was watching me like a hawk while I tried to pretend nothing was happening- again, denial is a strong thing, and I just kept thinking, if I'm not really in labor, I'm going to feel so stupid. So I went and hid in my office...and the contractions spread waaay out. The doctor had said not to wait too long before calling, second babies come faster, but I was NOT about to call the office having contractions ten minutes apart. I got up and walked around, and they came back instantly. At one point, I went down to the cafeteria, and literally seconds after a blinding contraction, saw an infectious disease fellow who jokingly said to me, "what, haven't had that baby yet?!" I smirked and walked away.

The pattern repeated the whole time I was at work- try to walk around, have contractions, get annoyed by PEOPLE (I just kept thinking, wtf, why are all these RESIDENTS here????), go back to the office, contractions stop. Finally decided after my coworker showed up that I really needed to go home. I drove home, stopping at McDonald's for lunch (I wanted one last splurge!) (ha. yeah. I continue to splurge.) and came in the house to find Stephen sleeping on the couch. No, Stephen wide awake on the couch, on the verge of a heart attack, wondering who was coming in the house in the middle of the day. I sent him upstairs to keep sleeping and tried to keep contractions going. Bounced on the exercise ball- that made them stop. Swept the kitchen. That made them continue, but damn, cleaning is annoying. Walked on the treadmill, that made them continue, but was boring and irritating. I finally broke down and called the doctor's office.

The nurse was skeptical when I told her my contraction pattern, until I told her it was my second baby, when she became far more serious and told me to come in to be seen.

I woke Stephen up, and was shocked by how calm he was. As I was slammed by a contraction, he said something about "...if this turns out to be go time..." and I grunted, "THIS IS GO TIME." I guess that's what he needed to hear? Because his whole boogey changed, and we were out the door in seconds.

Disgustingly lost my mucous plug in the doctor's office waiting room. You know you wanted to know that.

After the world's shortest NST, the doctor pronounced that I was dilated to 4cm and obviously in labor, and should head to the hospital. She asked if I wanted an epidural. HA. I wanted one TWO HOURS BEFORE SHE ASKED ME.

While we were moving the car from the doctor's office to the hospital, Stephen, in an attempt to distract me, said, "OK. We need to talk girls names." The only reason I did not kill him was because our child needed a father.

We called our parents from the hospital, and I writhed around the couch in OB reg. People stared and I was mortified. It sucked.

We finally got sent to L&D, and rode the elevator with two other couples. One was really friendly and chatty. The other barged ahead of all of us to the registration desk, told the woman behind the desk that she was 41 weeks pregnant and there for induction. They had not registered downstairs, and actually started an argument with the woman about whether or not they would go back down there to register. I have a really clear memory of turning and giving Stephen the world's biggest "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???" look ever, and he took my arm and pulled me back. I mean, SERIOUSLY?!

FINALLY, we got into L&D. My nurse started the IV right away, and I expected things to be just like the day Grace was born- instant epidural.

HA.

I waited another hour and a half, writhing and cursing and progressing to tears when I heard my nurse and the anesthesia nurse whispering to each other, convinced I was never going to get the epidural and that I would have to deliver without it. Some dipshit ER resident, doing his OB rotation, came in to do some pointless ultrasound to see if the baby was head down. God I hate residents.

Epidural finally in place, I settled in for the fun part of labor. We could pick a girl's name, get online, update friends, relax, and enjoy the process. Except then the on-call doctor came in, found me at 6cm, broke my water, and told me the baby would be here within the hour. whaaaa??? NO!!

Sure enough, within seconds, my contractions changed, and I knew it was time to push.

Pushing this time was amazing. I could see everything, and as I felt Katie slide out, I looked down and turned to Stephen, who said at the same time, "it's a girl!!!"

*****************

The first month of Grace's life felt like running the marathon. I felt every. single. step. Every second. It was agony. I thought there was no way I would survive, that surely I could not do it.

This month has flown by in the blink of an eye. It's totally unreal to me that Katie is a whole month old. And the fact that it went by so quickly makes me awfully nervous about how quickly the rest of this year will go by. I'm no fan of the newborn period, to be sure, but because I've done it before, I know: the best is yet to come.

Kids Change Your Life.

You know those big cliches that people constantly cite, to the point that you just roll your eyes and turn off your ears as soon as you hear them? But then you actually experience them, and they don't feel like a cliche, they feel like the SMARTEST THING ANYONE SAID EVER?

Gracie went with her grandma today, leaving just Katie and me at home while Stephen slept after work. I missed her...but I was ready for the rest/break and one on one time with K-Mae.

I had big plans. Groceries, lunch, and a nap. Try not to be jealous.

Thanks to Target's new grocery section, we did our shopping at my favorite store on earth, complete with latte:) From there, I went to Taco Bell for lunch. And you just hush your mouth, because it is delicious and you just don't know, I don't even want to hear about it. I came home with lunch, fed Katie, fed myself, and checked out the TiVo. Sometimes my TiVo is pretty sure I have horrible taste in television and want to watch crap like Two and a Half men or the latest Patricia Heaton vehicle. But sometimes? My TiVo loves me and records kickass shows like Freaks and Geeks. ONLY the awesomest show ever. So while Katie napped on the boppy, I watched some awesome tv. And then I took a long-ass nap.

And all of that combined? Made the best day I've had in a really, insanely long time.

Three years ago, a day of Target, Taco Bell, and TiVo would not be noteworthy. It would probably be totally boring. Now? HEAVEN.

To be covered in our next installment of "understand the cliche": the intense guilt you feel as a mother when you describe your perfect day which involves a prolonged break from your firstborn child.

So it's true. huh.

One of the things they really drilled into our heads in grad school was that a baby is full-term at 40 weeks. Not a 37, not at 39, but at forty weeks, and even though they won't have any more life-threatening issues at that point than they would at 40 weeks, they are different. They have higher rates of jaundice and feeding issues, among other things.

So, for example, to pull some numbers out of thin air? You can have a baby at 38w5d and they will come into the world happy. Practically meditating!

But as they approach their due date, they will slowly wake up and notice the world around them. And they won't like what they see. At first, they'll just demand to be held 24/7, but that's okay, because you're all into baby-wearing, and your first baby was probably REALLY fussy, and if the baby is happy when they're held, they're happier than your first baby! Maybe they'll insist on sleeping in your bed, but hey, sleep is sleep, so no biggie. Then maybe they'll get really fussy in the evenings, and you'll think, well. That's less than ideal. But it's okay! All babies are fussier in the evening.

Then they'll be a screaming, raw bundle of nerves in the evening, wanting to nurse every single second, but becoming enraged when their mouth fills with MILK as a result (and some dumbass will ask if you've tried a pacifier, like you recently suffered severe brain damage and couldn't come up with such a simple solution on your own). So you'll stop nursing, and they'll arch and writhe and root frantically. Songs, rocking, bouncing, walking- won't help.

Then? This behavior will progress to the whole day. And probably, your two year old isn't on board with every second being devoted to calming the baby. Probably, she'll feel all neglected. And maybe she'll watch lots and LOTS of tv, which is really great for her speech development.

Just, you know, to cite a hypothetical example.

And probably, if that happened, you would feel like it was really an unfair pile of bullshit, because you already went through this and it was your turn to have an easier baby this time. Maybe this baby would want to be held all the time, maybe this baby would be crabby in the evenings, maybe this baby would even cry every evening, but to scream all day? No. You already went through that and feel absolutely no shame whatsoever about thinking that it was someone else's turn. Probably, you'll also be acutely aware that people alternate between thinking you're exaggerating, or that you're doing something to the kid to make them that way, and that just pisses you off more.

And then, finally, an hour and a half after big sister is asleep, fussy baby v2.0 will finally fall into a fitful sleep, and you won't even care about any of that anymore, because you are going to die and be dead if you don't take a nap.

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.