piccies

Sorry about the delay. It's been a 'not five minutes of opportunity' kind of day.

We're all doing pretty well. Maddie decided that she wanted to try to feed ALL NIGHT LONG, which will probably be great for prompting milk production quickly, but not so great for Mommy. So I'm hoping (for no good reason) that this upcomnig night won't be the third almost entirely sleepless one in a row. Ugh.
Lizzy would hear her crying in the middle of the night and come downstairs and find us, wherever I had stolen away with the baby so that she wouldn't wake up her big sister. But Big Sister insisted on helping. "I don't mind!" she'd say. "I'm getting some good sleep!"
Come on, milk production -- and bring a sleepy, sated baby with you.

Here are some photos that Stacy the Baby Whisperer (and super photographer, along with her many other skills) took yesterday -- about 12 hours after Maddie was born. Isn't she a little doll!

welcome, baby M

She's here! She's here! Madeline Claire was born this morning (Thursday) at 3:06 a.m. She weighs 8 pounds, 10 oz, is 21 inches long and has short, dark, likely curly hair. Awww -- just like Daddy! She appears very healthy and responsive, and -- most importantly to Mommy -- appears to be VERY mellow, and LOVES to sleep. I don't quite know what to do with a child like that, but I'm looking forward to finding out. She was made to order! Oh, and she even latches on well. Such a perfect little package.

We're all doing pretty well. Matt's ably filling the role of SuperDaddy, martialling the forces here at home. He's giving Lizzy lots of opportunities to be a special Big Sister helper, and chances to bond with baby sis, not to mention making sure all Mommy's needs are met, and if that weren't enough, he and Uncle Nick are still moving everything all around the house to rearrange, now that we have the basement back. Grandma Connie is helping a ton by amusing Lizzy and generally doting on her granddaughters. Matt's threatening to scrub the place from top to bottom in advance of my parents' visit next week. Which they insist we shouldn't do, of course, but Matt likes to run a clean ship, I guess.

I know I should be sleeping right now, but it's just too weird to take all those naps during the day. Perhaps after another mostly sleepless night, I'll get with the 'sleep when the baby sleeps' program!
I'm feeling okay. I knew what to expect, post-birth, this time, and that helps so much. I've got the 'spayed cat' feel from the stitches, the crampiness from the breastfeeding kicking my uterus back into shape, and the weirdly still-huge gut, but aside from those fairly minor things, all is well.

It's so neat to be a mom (again). It's so wonderful to feel settled in this role, and to know that there is nothing but joy surrounding this situation. To add something wonderful to our family, instead of starting something that we didn't really know what to do with. God is so incredibly kind and merciful. Who could deserve these sort of gifts?

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(what follows contains a 'too much information' warning, especially for the male types among us)
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As for the childbirth itself ... apparently, I cannot pop out a kid without the use of castor oil. Okay, it's not SO bad. I took it late enough in the game -- not sure if it was that, or the enema shortly before, that finally kicked my body into gear -- that there wasn't a lot of, well, stuff all over the place when the kid arrived this time. Later yes ... the big difference this time around, aside from time of day, was that I pushed for only nine minutes. And when that pushing stage started, BOY. It was more sudden (though greatly appreciated) than I could imagine. It took the midwives, and my poor sleeping husband (I think he grabbed about three hours that night while I was having those increasingly wild contractions), by surprise. I recall being a rather wild banshee for those nine minutes, as well, not nearly the chilled-out character of last time. The difference between ages 30 and 36? Or just how fast it was happening? All I know is, I wanted that child OUT. And out NOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW.
They tell me that when her head came out, she looked to one side, then the other side, then lifted her head up and looked all around, as if looking for the proper exit. "Pick a side, little one!" I heard the midwives say. (I guess they're supposed to turn to one side and kinda slip out the rest of the way that way, to get one shoulder out at a time.) I thought to myself, "No worries, little one. Your big sister is going to LOVE telling you exactly what to do from now on ..."
So both my kids like to make dramatic entrances, it sounds like. (Lizzy came shooting out through the air, the umbilical cord acting as a bungee cord. So I hear.)
All I have to say is, whatup with this natural birth crapola? If I were doing it again -- which I am NOT -- I would embrace an epidural as my best friend. When I said this to my friend Stacy, she said she thought all moms said that in the days after the birth ... and perhaps that's true. All I know is, it makes me want to shudder to think of those dark hours right before she was born. But, I survived. As women tend to do. And the literally hours of stitching me back together afterward -- I was serving as a sort of training ground for one of the women, it appeared -- were no treat, either.

Yes, we had enough food for the midwives! :) Much of it didn't even get opened, but the mini-quiches from Costco were a big hit. I highly recommend them.

This same friend Stacy, the Baby Whisperer, and her wonderful husband Mike visited with their rockin' camera this afternoon. She got some incredible photos that I hope to share a couple of here soon.

Thanks so much for all your support and encouragement, everyone. Much love to all of you who keep up with us here. We can't wait to share our littlest charge with you!

lil' no-name

Oh, and I can't find our baby name book. And we still haven't settled on a name.

Yeah, we ARE that lame. Is this a second kid, or what??

please pray for contractions...

I'm hanging out at home. And still, no contractions! :( I'm about to take a walk to see what we can get worked up here.

We did go out to breakfast, but then Matt's mom called (she's keeping pretty close tabs on us these days) and she told us she was home with a headache, and since she was Lizzy's ride home from school, we just came back home from the restaurant and Lizzy will hang out here.

Matt and Uncle Nick just took Lizzy to the pool to work off some of that energy. She has been reacting rather strangely, and perhaps predictably. The news of the impending baby seems secondary -- perhaps even tertiary -- to whatever she's been into at the moment. "Mom, you may be sitting on the toilet (amniotic fluid issues -- sorry, tmi), but COME WATCH ME PUT ON A PUPPET SHOW!" Hey, listen to me play the piano! Watch me strike the keyboard harder than I know I'm supposed to! Etc. Argghhh. That adjustment from only-childdom might be a struggle.

So, when the boyzz and the girl get back, I'm gonna drag Matt out into the July heat for a stroll through the neighborhood. See what we can get worked up here. I'd tell you what else the midwife recommended (you might remember it from an earlier post), but it would make me blush. Eeek.

D-day

Yep, it's my due date.

And, oddity of oddities, it would appear that this precocious baby is going to appear today! Also, it chose to start things off at about 7:15 a.m. (water breaking as I got out of the shower), giving Mom and Dad a full night's rest beforehand. Already more merciful than Big Sis was as an infant.

Yet, no contractions, so the dreaded spectre of Castor Oil looms. Not that the birth center has said that. Not that I've talked to them. I got their answering service, and the guy said he'd page the person on call, and I didn't know if I was supposed to hang on or hang up, so I hung up. C'mon - don't make me THINK right now!

So it could well be awhile. Matt's angling to go to Bob Evans (breakfast place), then drop Lizzy off at school.

Man, this timing's awesome. Regrettably, there were a couple tasks that didn't get completed at work yesterday, but they weren't problems that were under my control, so ... sorry, coworkers! And best of luck to you.

So let me go get packed, and grab that Baby Name book, and we're going to hit the road soon (or not? rush-hour traffic?) and see what we shall see.

Toodles!

discouraged

I'm feeling a bit down today on this baby business.

I kinda thought yesterday that things were starting to happen. And perhaps they were -- perhaps I was having those early contractions that eventually help set everything in motion. I was excited. I was pumped. I was ready. I was a little bummed that The Great Zucchini might be missed, but, frankly, I was mostly okay with that.

But, no. I awoke this morning, as usual -- and many times throughout the night, as usual -- and no major action had been worked up to, despite dreams of "should I call the midwives now? Should I call the birth assistant now? What's the weather like? How close are we to rush hour?"

I do realize that the due date, as sketchy a designation as that is in the first place, is tomorrow. I'm not even really DUE yet, quite. But I guess I'm ready now. And I've been on my guard for weeks -- leaving the office by informing my colleagues what will still need to be done on my behalf should I not return, etc. The up side of that is, they're always happy to see me in the morning.

But I'm to the point now where I wonder -- I really do wonder, as illogical as it is -- whether I will ever give birth. Perhaps not. Can the body re-absorb the baby? Maybe it can. Maybe this little squirmy monster in my belly will just disappear. I hope not, but ... maybe.

It seems like (s)he's ready, too. There's restlessness afoot down there. And I think the baby's moved down considerably over the past few days. No longer does my stomach feel like it's at the back of my throat, and there's a weird, empty-ish, squishy part right below my sternum.

But who decides when the baby will come? Not me, and, it would appear, not him or her. The right release of chemicals (but how do they know)? No one really knows.

I think, if the baby's not here by Friday, I'm done with work. I was going to stop after this week, but I think I'll tack on Friday, as well. Why not. I'll sit and stew at home instead of doing so at work.

I'd really like to see this baby now. I'm ready. It's official.

taking a poll

Or is it a vote, if there are only two options ... hmmm ... I'm not sure about that.

Anyhoo -- if the baby hasn't shown signs of appearing by tomorrow night: Should I play Matt one game of ping-pong? Give him the best chance he's ever going to get to beat me, in my heavily pregnant state? (sorry, dear, but you KNOW it's true.)
We get our basement back as of 7 a.m. Tuesday morning (but who's counting), and Lizzy and I are looking forward to lots and lots of Ping-Pong. I think Matt's got music studio dreams dancing through his head for that back-corner bedroom-like area.

All in all, I don't wish to be ungracious -- we wish the father in law the best in his retirement and travels and all -- but ... woo HOO! A basement once again. :)

nothin' doin' yet

In case anyone was wondering ... it's Sunday evening, and I perceive no labor-type action.

I'm also hoping that by typing this, I can tempt Fate to act in the middle of the night, since that's when these things seem to happen ...

tough crowd

On the way home from work/school a couple of nights ago, Lizzy said quietly, "I'm feeling sad."

"Why?" I asked, immediately assuming that it was because she has to sit in the back seat of our practically a/c-less car for a couple of hours a day. That would be enough to make ME sad.

"There's nothing much to look forward to," she said. Actually, I can't recall her sentence verbatim, but that's what she meant. Nothing on the horizon that seemed exciting.

"WHAT?!!" I shrieked in disbelief.
"A baby brother or sister?
"Getting our basement back (Tuesday) -- endless games of Ping-Pong?
"KITTIES?
"Your Grandma and Grandpa Williams visiting in a couple of weeks?
"Going to your friend Ethan's house a couple nights from now?" (she is always clamoring to do this when we drive past on our way up the street in the evenings.)
"First grade?
"Then Halloween?
"Your birthday?
"Then Christmas?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "I forgot about those things ... but Halloween is kind of a long time away," and her face fell a little.

Geez. What do we require around here, semi-monthly trips to Disneyland? I'm thinking the rest of this year holds plenty of excitement, even for a discerning 5-year-old.

um ...

I don't even remember what I was going to blog about today. That's pretty much how things are going. I'm hanging in there, yes. But, good land, child -- come soon, okay? Getting to work and back each day is as monumental a task as I remember it being the last time around. And this time, the commute's longer, and the evenings are a little more demanding.

Today is apparently 39 weeks. The due date's been tossed back and forth so much, I don't know what to believe, but since July 16 is the earliest (and most recent) one I've heard, let's go with that. And I had best not go late. At this point, I'm wondering just how much MORE painful Pitocin could possibly be than your garden-variety natural labor ... Hmmmm.

Lizzy has informed me that The Great Zucchini (he's a funny guy who does magic! One time he put a tissue in his mouth, and pulled out a rainbow!) will be appearing at her summer program next Tuesday, and she just has to go. She just about burst into tears when I told her I couldn't really guarantee that.
Her younger sibling -- upstaged even before birth by The Great Zucchini.
Typical.

Also, at this point: We really, truly have no idea what we will be naming the baby. Not even secretly. I thought we had sort of settled on something, but it appears, no. Which is fine. I had reservations about that choice, as I have had (and so has Matt; hence, no name picked) about everything we've come up with. Nothing hangs together as being "just right" for very long.

So, don't give us too much guff when you hear whatever it is we've come up with. It'll probably be a result of me, exhausted and sweaty, looking over at Matt and saying, "Well, what does (s)he look like?" And it'll be Petunia Forsyth, or something similiarly grotesque.

Here's to Shakespeare and his disregard for names.

nesting

I've heard that preggers folks enter a so-called "nesting phase" right at the end. Getting those last, at times really wacky and overboard, preparations done before the baby arrives. Doing things like scrubbing bathroom tile on hands and knees, rearranging the garage; often it's stuff that the baby couldn't possibly appreciate, or need, once it got here.

I don't recall doing much nesting -- mostly just freaking out, probably -- before Lizzy's arrival. I did bang out a scrapbook that I'd been working on, the weekend before she came (five days late, so if she'd been on time, I wouldn't have accomplished even that).

This time around, it feels like we're more prepared. It helps greatly to have an actual extra room for baby stuff, instead of a "junior one-bedroom apartment" like last time (for which I was properly grateful at the time, it must be said). Still, I'm setting my goals low.

That's probably due at least in part to the fact that I'm utterly paranoid the baby will come at any second. Well, let me amend that to, its imminent arrival will be heralded at any second by my water breaking; the more dramatic the setting, the better.
I had a friend who said she'd carry a pickle jar with her on the metro during her late pregnancies. If her water broke, she thought the embarrassment would be lessened if she threw down the pickle jar, so any mess would be accounted for by broken glass and pickle juice. And pickles, I assume. I'm thinking that might even make things worse, but that was her theory. I'll just let random metro strangers think, hey, that hugely pregnant gal's water broke. And hope I'm not sitting on a seat next to anyone at that time. Because, ewwwwww.

Anyway, I'm not asking much of my weekends these days. I believe my goals for last weekend were roughly as follows:

Purchase a few receiving blankets. (I thought we had some, but Lizzy had confiscated them all long ago to use as dolly blankets.)
Wash receiving blankets.
Do a bit of other laundry.
Go to Costco; buy stupid food supplies for self-catered birth.

Yep, that was about it. But I accomplished all of those tasks! Yahoo.

My husband, on the other hand, has become near-maniacal in his quest for "productivity." Not for me, thank goodness! but for himself. The man pitched in on a manly, deck-building service project for church, cleaned the kitchen very thoroughly, then fretted the next day when I dragged him around town doing other errands. It didn't feel productive ENOUGH, you see, to be driving around.
So instead of seeing Wall-E that afternoon with Lizzy and me, he stayed home and ... steam-cleaned the shower stall in the master bathroom.
He is a man obsessed.

Yesterday, he said something about having blurry vision. "Maybe it's pre-eclampsia!" I said. (that's one of the symptoms the midwives always ask me about on my weekly visits.)
He was quite confused. I guess I'll have to slow down on those "spousal sympathy pains" jokes.

My goals for this coming weekend:

Return library books, which are due on Saturday.
Do more laundry. (this one's only a must because I have so few clothes that fit!)
If I'm feeling crazily ambitious, I might just crack out the bottle purifier and breast pump and re-familiarize myself with how they work, while I'm not quite so sleep-deprived ...

Yep, that's about the entirety of my list. Matt will probably build Rome in a day, or something.