Where'd my baby go???

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! And what a year 2015 has been for me. I survived the entire year with a child! And, even more impressively, she survived it too!!! Woohoo, how's THAT for success? But now, as the year draws to a close, I have come to a sad realization. I don't have a baby anymore! My little Mila is still here, of course (She's actually singing in her sleep as I type this) however, in the past week or so I have concluded that she is no longer a baby. I have a toddler 😩. Of course, she'll always be MY baby, but something has definitely changed. I noticed it on Christmas Eve, while she was sitting and playing in the living room. I'm not sure what triggered it...perhaps it's the fact that her top two teeth finally came in, or that her hair seemed to grow a full inch in a week. Perhaps it was the fact that she now prefers standing over crawling and is walking with her little baby walker all over the place (until it crashes into a wall and she's lost). Maybe it's because she's becoming more verbal, and babbling the "lyrics" (or close to them) of her favorite tunes. Most likely it's all of these things put together, but whatever the case may be, the revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. 

As much work as it entailed, I loved having a baby. Her tiny cuteness, her reliance on me, her toothless smile...she was my little gummy bear. I dreaded the idea of her growing out of the baby phase. I in no way wanted her teeth to come in, or for her to learn to crawl or walk, or for her hair to get long enough to style. This was for purely selfish reasons, and so stupid really...I loved my baby and feared what my reaction to her changing would be. Would I find her less adorable? Would I get frustrated at running after her everywhere? Would I miss her complete dependency on me?

As it turns out...the answers are not at all, sometimes, and I don't know. Before, I thought she was the cutest baby on the planet, now I think she's the cutest one-year-old on the planet. If I miss her "baby look", I sift through the 450,000+ photos of her that I've taken in the past year (if you thought that my Instagram had too many pics of her, you have NO IDEA how much I've spared you all). It's exhausting to run after her especially in my current state (7 months along and counting) but her daddy has been able to do most of the chasing for me. It's been beautiful to see them bond in a way that wasn't possible when she was breastfeeding and I was her entire world. Which brings me to the third question, I guess I miss that dependency on me...but it's been replaced by other wonderful connections that I see her developing with other family members (and the cat, Bella, the first name she's ever called out besides "Dada". Still waiting on Mama). So... I don't know. I don't think so. At least, I don't miss it as much as I thought I would. 

I guess it helps that I have another one on the way, so I'll be back in the throes of the baby stage in a matter of months. After that one starts to grow up...well, we'll see. Maybe there will be a third, maybe I'll close up shop, maybe I'll have a nervous breakdown and mid-life crisis. Maybe I'll get a dog. Okay, that last one won't happen, but still. 2016 is looking pretty amazing, and I look forward to watching my girls grow this coming year. Just...not too fast. This mama can only take so much. 

Has it been a year???

Everyone warned me to soak in every moment as a mom because the time would fly by in the blink of an eye. And I've tried. (There is unintentional rhyming happening here. I'm not trying to be Seussian). I've rushed home early from work to be with my daughter, made sure we had plenty of alone time together without tv or phone to distract me from the innocent, beautiful perfection that is my baby, and I've taken about seventeen billion photos of her...but still...a year?!?!? WHAT?!?!?

I'm not okay with this, first of all. I mean sure, it's great that she sleeps through the night now (getting her to FALL asleep is another story), she can hold her own bottle, and starting to be able to entertain herself for stretches of time, but...she's my BABY! Who's, like, almost a TODDLER! Omg, I'm gonna cry. I'm gonna seriously, actually cry.

Okay, hold on.

Okay, back.

Dang, motherhood is emotional.

Okay, so while I'm on the 'motherhood' thing. Not only can't I believe that my daughter is going to be a year old, I can't believe that I have been a mom for a year. Considering how exhausting it is, it seems like a freaking miracle that I've survived being Mary the Mom for so long.

Not that it hasn't had it's glitches.

The Hubs is so sweet in always reassuring me that I am doing a great job, but there's been a few times I have dropped the ball. (Is there a list coming...? YES THERE IS)

A List of Times I Could've Done Better as a Mom in the Past Year

(I don't know how long this list will be...basically I'll keep going until my munchkin wakes up)

1. The Obligatory Monthly Photos. When I was pregnant, I didn't do those monthly "Our Baby is the Size of a Kiwi" photos because, I just knew I wasn't going to keep up with it. When our little girl was born, however, I bought these cute stickers from TJMaxx (clearance, baby!) that said "One Month", "Two Months" etc. I thought that it would be great to have this set of photos showing her growth over the course of the year. But then I didn't put her in the same spot every time the way the Pinterest Moms do. And I didn't place her next to the same stuffed animal to help document her size changes. And then I forgot month 9. And 10. And well...yeah. I figure I can photoshop the stickers into a couple of those seventeen billion photos I took and we'll call it a day.

2. Breastfeeding. Okay, I realize that compared to some moms, I hit rock-star status here because even though it hurt like $^&*(^# for the first month or so (Seriously. It was worse than childbirth. I'm not even exaggerating. I feared her little piranha gums.), but eventually I stopped at around 8 months. On one hand, I went longer than I thought, but I also fell short of the ideal "One Year" mark. This was largely due to pumping more than direct breastfeeding. Pumping at work was the freaking pits. It was gross and uncomfortable and time consuming and honestly not as a private as I had hoped. And storing it was also a b*tch. And cleaning the parts. And scheduling it properly. Ugh. I was never really great at pumping to begin with, but it was so much harder at work. And then...she started biting. And thought that it was HILARIOUS to hear me yelp in pain. So...that was that. Formula it became.

3. Tummy Time. I really do regret not pushing my daughter to do more tummy time, as I'll never know if she was slow to roll over an crawl because of that or because she's just a lazy baby (which she is...she gets that from her mama). I was about to type all these reasons as to why I didn't do it more...but I honestly don't know why. I think the biggest reason was that she didn't like it, and I didn't like seeing her uncomfortable. I definitely dropped the ball on that one.

4. Eating Healthy. I don't mean the baby, I mean me. While I was pregnant, and during breastfeeding, I was not the picture of perfect health. Sugary (or diet) drinks instead of water, plenty of carbs and burgers and takeout food. I stayed away from the "dangers" of sushi, hot dogs and deli meats (In fact, I was pretty obsessive about those things when pregnant...which is hard because those are pretty much my three favorite foods), but beyond that I can't say I ate healthy. Which isn't good for either of us.

Well, my little bean is starting to stir so I'm going to have to wrap this up...but I tried. I'm still trying. Mistakes will be made, laziness will set in, and I will not be a perfect mom. But I love that little baby with every fiber of my being, so I'll keep trying to do my best.

But I'll probably have Sonic for dinner.

Again.

But for now, here's a few of the seventeen billion photos proving my love and motherly devotion:

A Serious Post, for once.

I just woke up from a nightmare. Well, I woke up an hour ago, and have been feeling uneasy ever since. It happens on the rare occasion and I hate it. It's not so much the nightmare itself, but the other thoughts that creep into my brain after I wake up. 

I'm pretty good at being a glass-half-full kinda girl most of the time, except when THE THOUGHTS come. 

I stopped watching the news a little while ago because of this. I just couldn't handle the fears it induced in me. You see, I tend to personalize the horrible stories that the news broadcasts, but unlike them- I don't forget about them in a few weeks once the firestorm has died down. This has become worse since having my daughter, I suppose that's because I now feel like I have much more to lose if I become one of those horrible stories. 

For instance, a while ago there was a terrible story about a baby in her stroller with her grandmother when debris fell from a construction site, injuring the grandmother and killing the baby girl. It was all over the news at the time and I literally burst into tears when I heard it. Months later, the news has long forgotten the story, but I have not. More importantly, neither has the family of that baby girl. And THAT is what sticks with me. The idea that nobody cares anymore that that little girl's mother still has to wake up every day without her daughter. It breaks my heart and scares me to the bone at the same time. 

A few years ago, a couple was attacked while loading their car after Christmas shopping and the husband was killed, execution-style, trying to protect his wife. I think of them every year during the holiday season. I love Christmas and find such joy in it, but every year my heart sinks when I think of what it means to that widow. 

I could go on and on with the stories that plague my brain, but that is not the point of this post. It's not one of my lists where I'm jotting down all the macabre thoughts that swirl in my head. I guess I'm just trying to pull out some glimmer of hope at this moment. It can be so hard to find, but I need to FEEL grateful for what I have, rather than fear what could be. I know I AM grateful, but sometimes when my thoughts get the better of me, it's hard to feel grateful beneath the fear. 

Although some of my closest loved ones have been affected by anxiety and clinical depression, I never have- but I suppose this is the closest I come to understanding what they go through. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, that glass-half-full me seems, well, not like me. But she always comes back. Usually pretty quickly too. Because instead of focusing on possible loss, I focus on the amazing people that are worth all this worry over. 

So that's it. A brief journey into the things that keep me up at night. Or...in this case...early in the morning. I'm probably not going to promote this post as it isn't for others as much as it is for me. I could have made it private, but it shows I have layers and stuff. Idk. Whatever. Now back to your regularly scheduled zany posts in 5...4...3...2...

It's a...human!!!

Nearly nine months ago, I gave birth the the most beautiful little baby girl that my eyes had ever seen. She was 6 lbs 15 oz, 21 inches long and just perfect.

But now that she's been around for 75% of a year, I realized she's more than just a little baby. She's a person. I gave birth to an actual human. 

Not that I expected her to be an alien or a goat or a sandwich or anything (mmm...sandwiches). I'm just taken aback at how human she has become in the last nine months. It's like I'm watching a soul develop right before my eyes. It's as close to a miracle as I've ever seen. 

If you are confused, I'll try to explain. For example, she has actual LIKES and DISLIKES now. She likes avocados, remote controls, the TV show Pitch & Potch, and being tickled on her ribs. Her dislikes include most puréed fruits (??!!), being forced to crawl of do anything that exerts energy, and being told "no." And she is sassy!!! She knows when to put on the charm and when to throw a fit. She LOVES ice cream and music. She actually already has rhythm and bops her little baby body to the beat when a song plays. It's insanely adorable. 

She sweats. She sweats a LOT. I've got a hot-blooded baby for sure. Moments after being put in the car, her little nest of baby hair is soaked straight through even if the a/c is on full blast. And then it STINKS. It stinks like the most adorable little human baby stink (I'm assuming I think this way because I'm her mom) but to the everyday layman, it definitely has a stench. 

She has idiosyncrasies. She has certain faces that she makes that I just can't explain but are uniquely HERS. I've been around others babies lately and they have their own little faces that they make but they aren't the same. That goes for sounds as well. She may not be able to say much beyond "dada" yet, but she definitely has a voice. I can tell her cry from that of another baby. I BELIEVE this is because she really sounds different, and not because I've developed some superhero mom level of hearing. But it's reassuring when I leave her with the hubs in a store and I hear a kid crying because I can instantly tell that it's NOT her. Unless it IS her, in which I'm in no rush to run and help out said husband 😆 (sorry babe!)

I'm in awe if her every single day and she has no idea. I can't believe that little adorable blob of skin and bones and baby fat that couldn't even keep her own head up a few more baths ago is now...a person. And she's becoming more "person" every day. This has been the most amazing show to watch ever.

Holy crap I'm almost 40!

Okay, not exactly. I mean, I'm 34-going-on-35 this year but still that's on the fast track to 40 in my book. I don't think I realized this until today. Well it actually all started yesterday when I was talking to a coworker and he was sharing the details of his 25th birthday. WHICH HE JUST HAD. I don't know why I was so surprised, I mean, I started teaching when I was just 22, but knowing that I was nearly an entire decade older than him really threw me for a loop. Theoretically I could have taught him. WHEN HE WAS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL. Ugh. Just, ugh. 

I should be grateful...few people guess my actual age. They usually think I'm about 5 years younger than I am, and that's awesome. Unless they are lying. OMG WHAT IF THEY ARE?!?! WHAT IF THEY ARE JUST LYING TO BE NICE??? Oh Lord help me- this is just too much. 

And anyway, it's one thing when someone assumes you are 5 years younger which would make you 25 and it's another thing when 5 years younger would still place you at 30! This sucks. 

Then today, I went on Facebook and saw a friend (my age) who posted a link on "Things to do before you turn 40" and I realized...I have to read this. Because this is me. That's my next big milestone… 40. And then I felt a little nauseous. I can't have a list of things to do before 30 anymore because that's come and gone with little fanfare. 40 awaits. Is it possible for people feel doom in their stomachs??? I think I'm feeling impending doom right now. 

So now this is a thing. Today I will look for some kind of eye cream because I'm freaked out about wrinkles. It'll have to have retinol, I have no idea what retinol IS, but I've heard it's good for wrinkles. I already have been dyeing my greys since I was ACTUALLY 25 so no news on that front. I'd buy a Ferrari or something but I don't think it'd go with the baby's car seat. Regardless...I'm having a crisis people. A bona-fide mid-life crisis. 

Maybe soon I'll start to get into that stage of being a happy and sexy mid 30s woman, but I'm not there yet. Maybe I should be, but I'm not. I don't even see myself in my 30s yet. In my mind I'm still in my 20s. Well, my new mindset is telling me that I'm pretty much 40 so I'm not really sure what happened to my 30s.

Or maybe I do. My 30s gave me a lot of things. I learned about heartbreak. Then I found new love when I wasn't even looking. I left a school that was falling apart but had brought so many new friends into my life. I bought a house and turned it into a home. I found new interests. I travelled the country. I went to Europe. I brought life into this world. As a result of that new life, I bought a minivan. It's not exactly a Ferrari but I love it nonetheless. I did some freaking cool stuff in the first half of my 30s. Maybe the other half will be just as cool? Or cooler, even???

Hmm. Okay. Maybe this isn't quite so bad. Mid-life crisis averted. For now. 

I might still buy that eye cream...just in case. 

On snots, smiles, and being a mom.

It's been nearly four months since I became a mother so of course I believe that that gives me some measure of authority when it comes to pregnancy, motherhood, parenting and any related topics. 

Okay no, that's not true. Because I have no idea what I'm doing. On any given day, at any given moment, I have no clue.  Does any new mom really know what they are doing? I'm going to assume that the answer to that is "no, of course not!" and feel slightly better about myself. But as always, I digress. 

A conclusion that I HAVE come to regarding being a mom is...it's freakin' hard. But not for the reasons I had always assumed. Yes there are tiresome days and sleepless nights and I have much less money, space, and time now, but that's not it. Well, not exactly, anyway. Let's take the sleepless nights, for example (seeing as that is the current predicament I am in. You knew there had to be a reason for this random blog post).

 It is now 5:00 am and I have been up for approximately two and a half hours.  Yes, I'm tired- but that's not why this is hard. Yes- I'm worried that I'm going to be exhausted at work and not be able to get other things done, but that's not it either. Yes, I am most certainly frustrated that I can't get my Sweet Pea to sleep but that's still not exactly it. The reason why this is hard, you see, is my little one has her first cold. Her nose is all stuffed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving (okay technically we don't stuff our turkey because I think it's gross and unsanitary but whatever- it's a simile, people. Go with it). She came down with this cold three days ago and it just keeps getting worse. She sneezes like crazy, and her coughs like an old man. Who used to smoke cigars. Since he was twelve. It was that old-man cough that prompted a visit to the doctor, during which I was told that there's not much I can do. She's too little for medicine. "Keep her head elevated, but be careful if using a pillow because she can suffocate. Hold her in the bathroom while running hot water so she can breathe in the steam. Keep her nasal passages clear but only use saline solution and a bulb aspirator."  

That's it. 

So that's why I'm here now, laying next to her on the floor, while she's nestled in a boppy. I have one hand on her at all times. So she's elevated- but won't suffocate. 

That's why I bought a nifty new cool-air humidifier that looks like something out of Star Trek Voyager (yes- only Voyager). Because holding a sick, squirmy baby in a tiny NYC apartment bathroom for any extended amount of time is just not at all possible, in my experience. 

That's why, after no success with the bulb aspirator, I did some research and bought a NoseFrida Snot Sucker. Yes- a Snot Sucker. That's what it's called. And, let me tell you, that is EXACTLY what it does. Actually- it's what I do. I'M the snot sucker. It's a little tube with a mouthpiece on one end and a chamber with a filter in it- the chamber goes on the baby's nostril and the other end goes in my mouth and I LITERALLY suck her snot out. With my mouth. That's how much I love my daughter, I'll suck her snots right out of her nose. You wish you hadn't read that, don't you? Well too bad, that's life, people! Sometimes you gotta suck out snots! (And for those of you who are curious and can't quite picture it using my description, there's always YouTube.) 

But all that...that's STILL not the hard part. The hard part is hearing her sad little whimper when she's so exhausted but can't breathe through her nose to sleep properly. The hard part is listening to that phlemy cough that takes the wind out of her little body. The hard part is looking into her red, puffy, watery eyes and wishing I could just take all her suffering away. THAT'S the hard part about being a mom. Wanting to do everything right, and make your baby as happy and comfortable and safe as possible. 

But sometimes you can't. 

No matter how hard you try, you just can't. It's the most heartbreaking thing in the world. I just want to save her from any and every pain she'll ever encounter. But I can't. 

But it's that very moment when she'll look up at me with those red, puffy, watery eyes...and she'll smile. It's the most unlikely thing, considering how she must feel, however, when it comes down to it, I'm her favorite person in the world and somehow she knows I'm trying my best. And also-she just plain loves me and is genuinely happy I'm there with her. There's no faking that, it's the purest love in the world. My efforts are rewarded with that gummy little grin and all those "hard parts" are quickly forgotten. Washed away by love. 

Before getting pregnant, I always worried that having a baby would be too much work. And it is. It's absolute madness. And I still don't know what I'm doing. Maybe I will a year from now, maybe not. Maybe in ten years, maybe not. Maybe it will be hard forever. But so far, every part of it has been so completely worth it. Those are some powerful little smiles. 

One last thing- About an hour ago, I started to get a stuffy nose. My throat is getting scratchy too. I'm pretty sure I caught her cold. 

Still totally worth it. 

My Birth Story

I still can't believe I had a baby.

The physicality of it, I mean. Sometimes I just look at my little one and tell her..."You actually came out of my vagina." It's not weird yet because she doesn't understand English. In a few years, it'll be weird. I might still say it to her though. And scar her for life. 

I started working again, and as expected,  I miss her terribly. Isn't that weird? I miss this tiny, completely dependent, exhausting little troublemaker that can barely communicate yet. But I do. Lots. To the point where it makes me cry to think about it. 

So I realized after all this time off I never actually wrote down my birth story. Or is it HER birth story? I mean, I gave birth to her but she was the one born...whatever. So here goes...

Where should I start? There are so many details about the pregnancy itself that I want to remember, but that's not really the birth story itself. I guess I will start with when labor technically began. Which means I have to start with...VAMPIRES. MWAHAHAHAHHA!!!!

Yes, vampires. Well...the TV show "The Vampire Diaries" anyway. That's what your daddy and I were doing when I started going into labor with you. (I realize I just shifted from writing to a general audience to writing to the baby. I'm not sure how to proceed. I guess I'll write to the little one in the hopes that one day she will be one of my six blog fans). So yeah, that's what we were doing when my water broke! Although, it wasn't like an ocean just released itself from my womb or anything like that, the movies make it seem much more dramatic than it actually is-for me, at least. It sort of came in small waves, to the point where I actually wasn't sure if my water broke at all. At first I consulted my never-fail, always-reliable source...the Internet! It suggested that I put a pad "down there" to see if I soaked through it quickly. I did. It did. I still didn't think I was in labor though, after all, my obgyn had just told me yesterday that I was no where near ready and you were not due to show up for another 10 days. After about an hour of waiting and checking, I called the doctor's office and the doc that was on-call advised me to haul my prego butt to the hospital ASAP because it sounded like my water broke (which opened us both to infection). I told your father what the doctor said and...well to put it lightly...he was not happy. Not because you were on your way but because he didn't THINK you were on your way. He thought I was just being my usual dramatic self (I can see his point). Also, he was already tucked into bed all cozy for the night when I pulled out the hospital bag and informed him of the situation. His exact words to your grandparents were "We'll be back in a couple of hours." :-/ Not exactly what a pregnant lady wants to hear. 

The drive to the hospital was about 30 minutes long, and that's because it was a really nice hospital and we were willing to go all the way up to Connecticut for it. Not something your dad appreciated at 10:30 at night, but whatever. When we got there, the valet parked our car (I told you it was a nice hospital!) and I waddled over to the maternity ward with your father. They admitted me right away to his surprise. Then a lovely nurse with a Caribbean accent named June checked me and told us that I was already 2 cm dilated. Or maybe it was three, I don't remember exactly. But anyway- we were ready and it was time!

Well, physically ready, anyway. I'm not sure about being emotionally ready. Not that we were given a choice at that point. 

That night seemed to fly by. At first, I didn't have any contractions, and when they finally started they were so mild! I was really proud of myself and thought "I could handle this. I am a rock star." Daddy and I started walked around the hallway together to try to move the process along, hand in hand, relishing in our last few hours as a family of two. I emailed my job telling them I would not be in tomorrow...and for three months after that. Your dad napped on a pullout couch/chair kind of thing for a bit while I laid in the hospital bed, listening to the beeps of all the machines I was hooked up to. It was soothing to know that some of those beeps were for me but some of those beeps or for you as well. It was kinda like you were saying "Hi mom- I can't wait to meet you. I hope you are ready for me." 

Things were pretty serene up until about 4 AM when the REAL contractions started. And these contractions hurt. A lot. I asked for the epidural but couldn't have it until a half hour later because they had to start an IV drip first. What a mistake. Once the epidural started 30 LONG minutes later, I felt a lot better. They put a catheter in (which horrified me more than the epidural itself because for some reason I have this unnatural fear of catheters) but I needed that epidural, so in they both went. The insertion of the epidural tube was kind of scary, but less scary than I thought it would be. All of the staff at the hospital were really great and put me at ease. Still, I was nervous and I remember looking over at your father's face and although he looked worried, I took comfort in him just being there with me at that moment and it turned out fine.

For the next bunch of hours I just sat there and waited. In the morning your father went to get food from the cafeteria. He felt bad because I couldn't eat but it didn't bother me one bit. Then Grandpa Phil and Granna showed up. Granna originally went to work but her boss sent her home when they found out I was in labor with her first grandchild! In a funny twist of fate, your Aunt Tee told Granna NOT to go to work but THEY told her TO go to work. So she ended up working while Granna stayed with me at the hospital all day with Daddy and Grandpa. Poor Aunt Tee. 

The contractions worsened as the day went on (and I actually kind of felt them in my butt more than my stomach area!). After a while the epidural felt like it wasn't doing much for the pain anymore, but it was apparently doing SOMEthing because my legs were completely paralyzed. What a weird feeling! The nurses had to keep turning me over and tried to help the labor along. I was like a sack of potatoes, I couldn't move anything below my waist. 

Most of the day went by without much progress to the dilation which we attributed to the epidural. At one point the doctor said a C-section might be necessary and I freaked out. I was SO afraid that with the C-section I would not be able to hold you for the first few weeks of your life, and I did not want that. I cried. Thank God, I finally dilated enough to push. I think if another half hour went by, the doctor would've wheeled me to the operating room. Thank God it was finally showtime!

By showtime, I mean I finally got to push. Not that you came out anytime soon. And it's funny, even though TV and movies always make pushing look horribly painful, I actually felt like it was the best part. It gave relief to all those contractions I was feeling. It was just EXHAUSTING. That was likely due to the fact that it lasted a full freaking hour! Even though the hairy little top of your head poked out on the first push, you must've changed your mind about making your first apprarance and therefore you tried to climb back in. 

Literally. 

As your father could tell you (I know, ew), every time we seemed to make a little progress and he saw a slightly bigger part of the top of your head, you receded back in after the push like a little turtle. It was so frustrating. I had the nurses telling me "keep your chin down" and "don't push with your face"- whatever that means. The doctor was hardly there. He showed up every once in a while to see the progress we had made which wasn't much. I found out three months later from your father that at that point, the doctor said we were probably going to end up with a C-section after all. Thank God that did not happen. 

The doctor finally said with this next one he was "going to get you out." I called him a liar. Then, right before I started to push, I saw the gleam of the scissors that the doctor picked up. I knew what he was about to do and prayed that it would be enough to get you out. Well it was. On that next push with a huge squirt of blood headed towards your father (graphic alert a moment too late!) you were pulled out! You were purple and hung upside down by your little feet. What was startling was that you immediately started looking around, but not screaming. 

It was freaky. 

Because you weren't screaming, I was worried. I thought maybe something was wrong and for some weird reason I thought that maybe you were a boy and nobody was teling me. But as soon as they got you onto the tiny little table they had set aside for you, they started cleaning you up and the screaming began. My baby was here. And she was LOUD. I could finally relax. (Well, after I passed the placenta, but honestly after everything else I had just been through, that was a walk in the park.)

It was about five minutes or so maybe even 10 that the nurses tended to you but it felt like YEARS. I wanted to hold my baby!!! Earlier in the day, my temperature went up causing your heart rate to rise so you were a bit of a risk and they were making sure everything was alright. I couldn't even see you during that time which was killing me! I was lying paralyzed on the bed craning my neck trying to get a peek!  Finally they brought you to me. My purple little eskimo alien baby. And I actually cried a little, tears of happiness. I thought the pregnancy would never end, but now here you were- in my arms- and my life would never be the same ever again.

The hospital believed in skin to skin contact, and I was happy about that, and you latched on right away. Hungry right from the start. Your dad was there taking the first pictures of us as mommy and daughter, but I barely noticed. I was just enamored by your precious little face. I was enjoying that moment- we were a family for the first time ever. 

Later on, your grandparents and Aunt Tee came in and fawned over you, taking tons of pictures. Your aunt brought me my ONE request, a salami sandwich from the deli. (You know how your mommy feels about sandwiches) It was bliss. 

The next few days were all a wonderful whirlwind in the hospital. I really loved that hospital, it was like staying at a hotel. People came by to see you- your Abuela, Chasity, Claire, and Aunt Louise and Uncle Frank. I also had a lot of time alone, both with you and completely by myself. The only problem was that breast-feeding was very painful but it would resolve itself in the next few weeks. The hospital had a TV channel on caring for newborns and I watched it nonstop through the nights. I ate the surprisingly delicious hospital food. On our last night there, your dad and I even had a lovely lobster dinner while Aunt Louise and Uncle Frank watched you. The nurses were lovely- they all came in and helped me out, they gave me tips on how to take care of you once we got home and when we left, they sent me off with quite a goodie bag of things for you. 

Two days later, three days after I entered the hospital, we brought you home. Aunt Tee put balloons in front of the house announcing the arrival of our new baby girl to the neighborhood. Unfortunately due to some clerical errors we didn't get there until late but we were home. We didn't know what to do with you and that first night was rough. In fact many of those first nights were rough. The first night we actually left you in your car seat next to us in the bed because we didn't know what else to do and didn't have anything set up yet. I cringe thinking about it. Remember, you were early, and we were unprepared and clueless. 

But it didn't matter. 

You were home. 

We were a family. 

And that's when our adventures truly began. 

THE END, or, should I say- THE BEGINING. 

Whoa, Baby!

Blogger of the year here!!! Or...MIA blogger for the past two years, apparently. Maybe I should call it the Biannual Blog. Or does "biannual" mean twice in one year? Hmm, I don't feel like looking it up. And I don't think I can commit to blogging twice a year, seems a bit much.

Anyhoo, let me update you on the latest in my life...I HAD A BABY!!! Whoa. Me. Cray huh? And let me tell you...IT FREAKING HURT. Nine months of discomfort (okay maybe eight months...I think month 5 wasn't so bad), and then my water broke and 18 excruciating hours later I had my pink, crying, squirmy little person. I love her to pieces and I would love to write my birth story for you with all the gory details, but first...A LIST!!!

Of course. You know me and my lists.

Maybe you don't know me.  I don't know. But if you don't...I'm Mary. And I love lists. That's enough of the introductions...WELCOME TO MY BLOG!!! 

So my little Sweet Pea is two months old which is just enough time for me to be able to assemble a list of things I have noticed about motherhood that I never thought of before. So I guess I'll name it...

Ten Things I've Learned About Babies (Or At Least My Baby) In The Past Two Months Since I Just Had My Own Child Two Months Ago 

(Long title-and slightly redundant-but it gets the job done)

1. If you think your baby is asleep...she isn't. But she won't make that obvious until you have finally gotten comfortable. At that point, she will (loudly) prove that you have made a grave error in assuming you were momentarily free.

2. Getting a child on a sleep schedule is much harder than it sounds. "Don't let them sleep during the day" only works if you can actually keep your child awake. My kid could sleep through a world war if she chose to. Of course, she can only attain this level of deep sleep midday. At night, a pin dropping would startle her awake. The other suggestion I've been told is to put her down to sleep when she's just drowsy, so she actually puts HERSELF to sleep and therefore develops good sleeping habits. To that I say..HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! It's just not possible. She's so kicky (even when swaddled), and wakes herself up and, well, that's the end of that.

3. Baths. NO. Some babies like baths, some don't. Mine acts as though I'm purring molten lava down her back and scrubbing her with sandpaper soaked in toxic acid. Seriously I don't think I've ever seen her scream more voraciously than when I try to bathe her. As soon as those tiny toes dip into the water...well...it might as well be red-hot magma. And I find it hilarious that so many books/websites/doctors/friends suggest giving her a bath to calm her down before sleep time (see items 1 and 2, above), because again...NO. The soap and lotion is actually called "Aveeno Calming Comfort for Baby" BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! NO. The only thing that's worse than the bath itself is the after-bath lotion massage. You'd think I was skinning her alive.

4. Clothing must be functional. It's so hard to stick to this because there are so many cute outfits, especially for girls...dresses with bows and buttons and furry booties etc. etc. etc. HOWEVER...I have found that the cuter the outfit, the more difficult it is to put on. Or off, for that matter, which really matters if it's covered in poop (and it WILL get covered in poop...see #5). When the bottom of an outfit is covered in poop and the only way to remove it is over your child's head, then guess what...that baby is going to get poop on her head. Which means she'll need a bath. Which is GREAT if your baby loves baths, but again...Baths. NO.

5. Projectile poop. It's a thing. Trust me.

6. You WILL get peed on. If you have a girl, you lucked out and it probably won't make it all the way to your face, but it'll still happen. I think sometimes my girl saves some pee for just the right moment when I have removed one diaper but haven't yet put on the next one.

7. Babies make weird sounds. Mine does, anyway. I mean, crying is expected, but sometimes she also squeaks. Yeah, mine squeaks. LOUDLY. It's supposedly something she's going to grow out of, but for now, I have a mini-heart attack every time because it sounds like she's struggling to breathe. Or sometimes she sort of sounds like a cat. And don't get me STARTED on her farts! I call them man-farts for a reason...I can't believe they emit from such a tiny baby booty!

8. They are somehow always dirty. It never fails, within an hour after bathing her, she somehow manages to get a grayish ring of gunk around her neck, under her armpits, and in between all fingers and toes. I have no idea where this gunk comes from, but it just appears somehow. Is it just me? Am I just doomed to be the mom of the dirty kid? Great.

9. Anything will suffice as a burping cloth if you're desperate enough. And I mean ANYTHING. This includes, but is not limited to: A napkin, your sleeve, your child's sleeve, a nearby pillow, your own hair, etc. Desperate times, people. Desperate times.

10. They smile in their sleep. At least at first, before she has even figured out HOW to smile while she is awake, she'll treat me to these fleeting sleep grins that just take my breath away.

So there ya go. That's what I have learned in the past few months. Well that, and this...despite every sleepless night, every tear shed by both baby AND myself, despite every exploded diaper and every ear-piercing shriek, I am fully aware of how blessed I am. She came into this world healthy, and I made it through relatively healthy as well. Not everyone gets that privilege. And I have only begun to explore the love I have for this tiny, helpless little person. It's almost overwhelming how much I adore her, and yet that love seems to grow every day. She is the most perfect thing I have ever seen in my life, and I can't believe I made her. Now she's making me.

It's...a positively insane, unpredictable, stressful, wonderful life. And I love it.

Happy New Year, everyone.