Today is okay

Yesterday was DH's first day back at work since my little one was born.  I was nervous and eager and ready to try so hard to do everything right.

We went outside and played in the snow.  We snuggled on the couch, all three of us.  BG and I played with playdough, with princesses, with blocks.  We baked cornbread and emptied the dishwasher together.  I cleaned the bathrooms.  I propped the baby up in the Boppy and folded three loads of laundry.

There were some hard moments, like when the little one woke up and started crying (what?? she cries???) just as I was tucking BG in for her nap, or when BG decided to pull stuff out of the trash while I was nursing, but overall?  I felt like a rockstar.

Today?  Not so much.

The baby decided to power nurse for two hours last night, and again when she woke up this morning.  BG woke up with a nightmare at 5, then slept until 8 (of course waking up in the middle of a nursing session and quickly working herself into a frenzy when I didn't come upstairs).

I was tired.  I was flustered.  I was determined to not set expectations too high.

We did nothing all morning but stay in our pajamas and watch TV until 11:30.

BG asked for a fruit leather for breakfast and I gave it to her.

I put the baby down in the swing, and then on her mat, and then in the swing again because when BG does nothing but watch TV all morning, she gets a little bit difficult to deal with and I need both my hands.

I had to yell at BG for climbing on top of her sister.  For trying to push her in the swing.  For throwing my water glass across the room.

This morning wasn't great, people.  I'm not a genius at this mom of two thing.

It's naptime now.  I tried to sleep, I swear I did.  But really all I wanted to do was lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for a while.  Rest.  Process. Recover.

I'm still tired.  I'm still not a genius at this.  But I'm okay.

And while I'm well aware that it's easy to be okay while both kids are sleeping, and that this afternoon might suck again, I'm kind of okay with that.

The thing I never understood about being kind to myself and giving myself grace is this: it's not that if you're kind to yourself, the day will go well and you'll feel better.  It's that you're kind to yourself even if the day sucks and you feel like crap.  That you recognize that you don't have to fix it, that no permanent damage is being done, and that even if you're not enjoying it, you're safe and whole and not at all broken.

And that's why today's okay.

My (holy crap) birth story

The last two weeks of  my pregnancy  were rough.  I was having contractions that woke me up at night, my pelvis hurt when I waddled walked, and both my body and doctor had me convinced that I would have the baby any minute.   I was uncomfortable, impatient, and anxious about the uncertainty.  Plus, I was worried about finding somewhere to take BG and get to the hospital on time since my first labor was so fast.

Or at least I thought it was.

That Friday, one day before I was 39 weeks, I went to a Christmas party and chased BG around and down the stairs 100 times.  I joked with the other moms about how she was helping me kickstart my labor.  That night, my in-laws got here and jokingly congratulated me on waiting for them to get here.

Hilarious.

At 4 AM, I woke up with contractions again.  Only this time, I had no question as to whether they were real contractions.  I was in a lot of pain, even between contractions, like I was with BG when I got to the hospital at  8 cm.   I needed to go.

Only, first I needed to call my doctor.  Since my water hadn't broken, I would need to give him a reason why I wanted to go to the hospital, so I started timing contractions.  And got on twitter.

I timed about two contractions at 6 minutes apart and decided I had enough evidence (in related news, I think I must be really bad at timing contractions).  I woke up my husband and called the doctor who told me "Well, if you really want to you can start heading over.  They might send you home though."  I was in the car seconds later.

We were out the front door by 5, and at the front door of the hospital by 5:45.

I walked up to the labor and delivery department, clutching the wall as I went, and trying to remember to breathe.  When the secretary told me to have a seat and someone would come get me, I almost cried.

In the triage room, I barely managed to get my gown on before announcing to the nurse "Umm, I'm in a lot of pain."  

"Okay, I'll get the doctor right in to check you.  Actually, I'll go ahead and start your IV first.  Were you planning on getting an epidural?"

"Yes?  ... Oh, I'm feeling pressure."

And then my water broke.  All over the room.  Exploded really.

The nurse ran out of the room and ran back with a terrified looking resident.

The poor scared little thing checked me and practically yelled, "She's complete and plus 2."

My nurse was already strapping monitors on me and doing 3 things at once as she leaned over my bed and calmly said "Let's go have your baby.  Grab all her stuff, dad, we're going to move fast."

When I got to the labor room, the nurses there were ready to go.  They looked at my face and laughed "You look pretty good for being complete.  You look calmer than they do," they said, indicating the triage nurses and residents.

I half smiled.  I mean, what else was I supposed to do?

Bless the heart of the on call doctor who was there a moment later.  "This is why I sleep at the hospital.  You ready to go?"  The very relieved resident quickly left the room.

"Umm, yeah.  I need to push.  Now."

And then people were holding my legs and I was having my baby.  Three contractions later, at 6:30 AM, she was on my stomach (well, right after they suctioned the meconium out of her mouth.  Why do my babies have to poop so much?)

They cleaned her up and took her to the warmer to weigh her.  I think people around me were congratulating me, and saying things like "that's the way to do it" and "good job, mom!" but at that point I was kind of in a daze.

"Congratulations, mama, on a healthy 9 pound 5 ounce baby."

Excuse me, say what?

I turned to my husband.  "By the way," I said, "this was not my birth plan."

My rambly one word post for 2013

I've been making a lot of jokes lately about how the only thing on my life's list this year was going to be "survive."

With a tiny baby in the house, and all the adjustments we all have to do, that seems like enough of a challenge.  And it's enough of an accomplishment for me to be proud.

But that's not what I want this year to be about.

In my gut, I've known for a while that I want more.  I've seen the person who I'm becoming, and even though sometimes I'm afraid of her, I know that this journey I have found myself on is turning me into someone different than I was before, and I like it.

I almost said better right there.  I almost said "being a mom is making me a better person."  But that's not fair.

The woman that I was: the beloved teacher, the diligent student, the snarky teenage girl, she matters.  She was amazing.  I am proud to have been her.

But at the same time, I know that I'm someone else right now, and that the only way to really survive? Is to keep growing and evolving.

This year, I want to be brave.  I want to learn.  I want to play.  I want to give and serve.  But mostly, I want to keep moving forward, and let myself become who I need to be.  I don't have a specific definition of what that means, and I think that's okay.  

This year, I'm not just going to survive the hard stuff.  I'm going to let the hard stuff do what it's supposed to do.  I'm going to grow and change and not be (too) afraid of that.

So my one word for 2013 is Grow.  Little by little, and sometimes in spurts, it's the only way to get somewhere great.

My 2012 wrap up, as it is.

At the beginning of 2012, I declared that my one word for the year was going to be kindness.

I can't begin to tell you how such a simple thing could pay me back so much.

Sometimes, it's so easy to focus on the big things, to think of accomplishments and achievements in such a macro sense.  I see people make big life lists and check things off, and I wonder what I've really done in a year.  When I look for big steps or changes, it seems like I haven't moved forward at all, like all I really did this year was to tread water and survive.

But that's not the truth.  I'm not who I am last year, and my world isn't what it was last year, and it's not because of any grand gestures.  It's because of the little everyday things that I do and that I am.  It's because of the deliberate way I choose to live.  It's because of kindness.

My relationship with BG is so amazing, and truly she is so amazing, not because of any activities I do with her but because I listen to her.  I see the person that she is, big feelings and all, and I do my best to give her what I understand she needs.

I have friends, true friends, in both my local and blogging communities because I stop and take an extra second to show kindness to everyone I  come across and particularly to people who need it.    Stepping up to make sure other people's needs were met made me braver, made me clearer and stronger, and made me part of something bigger than myself, something that I would never have believed I even deserved.

And, miracle of miracles, I've been kind to myself.  I learned to stop fighting with my feelings no matter how overwhelming and to just accept them.  I learned to stop trying to fix myself because I'm not broken.  I was so afraid  of how I would handle having two kids, but I let myself be afraid.  I decided it was okay to be afraid, okay to not know what I was doing.  It was okay to write and okay not to write.  It was okay to not be excited, to not love every second of everything.

And right now?  Sleep deprived, overwhelmed, milk drenched and cranky?  I'm okay.

And all  because of a little kindness.

On good babies

So, umm, in case I didn't mention it?  I had a baby last week.

I can't begin to explain all the ways this time is different.  But the most noticeable way is how different my baby is.

Little sister is calm.  And quiet. (Who knew they made them quiet?)  She doesn't care who's holding her, doesn't mind being put down.  At night, she sleeps in her bassinet and only wakes up to eat.  She only cries when she's hungry, and when she is awake and not nursing, she is calm and alert - although to me her expression always says "what's with you crazy people?"  Which?  Fair enough.

She is pleasant and agreeable, and in every way an easy baby.

But please don't call her a good baby, or I'll want to scream.

Because as much as I'm enjoying the quiet, as much of a relief it is not to be pacing the floor all night with an(other) inconsolable child, as great as she is to be around, when you call her a good baby, all I hear is that BG wasn't.

And that's so not fair.

Never once, whatever we went through together, did I think my sweet eldest girl was a bad baby.

And I worry too about my little one, being in the shadow of her charming, demanding, endearing, crazy-making big sister.  Is it really in her best interest to be so calm?  On Christmas Eve I forgot where she was, while I was nursing her.

The truth is I am absolutely crazy about both of my girls, and all  I want is for them both to be happy and loved.  And if it is possible to have a "good" baby, well then I have two.

The words

Lately, the words just don't come.

I feel like my heart has so much to say, but at the same time like my brain has absolutely nothing to say.  Like everything I have to say is the same, like I've said it all before.

I'm scared.

I'm tired.

I'm frustrated and disappointed and anxious and I don't even know what else.

Right now, I am sitting on my couch with my feet up, the advice everyone seems to be giving me these days. I am anxious that nothing "meaningful" is getting done.  It is quiet in my house because my sweet big girl is napping, easily for once, after a long playdate this morning which we both sorely needed.

I am waiting.

There is not much else to my life right now.

Soon, there will be a tiny, squishy newborn in my life and a jealous big sister.  And I won't be sleeping at night, and I will be trying to remember how to survive.  I will be busy and yet not busy.  I will feel that nothing is ever getting accomplished and the best I can hope for is that I won't care.

But right now I am just waiting.  Waiting and wondering and completely unsure of what to expect.  There is an emptiness to the waiting, which most of the time is neither eager anticipation nor dread but simply this space before, this quiet.

And I want to fill that space with words, to let them all pour out of me and through me, to use this moment to create something full of beauty and meaning and worthiness.

But it feels like there isn't time, even though time is all I seem to have.

So, this is happening

So, it's becoming pretty clear that I'm going to have a baby.

Yeah, I've always been a little bit slow.

Last time I did this, I had no idea what this meant. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know what it truly meant to be a mom, to have a little person who could simultaneously make you happy and insane, who was both you and not you, who both overwhelmed you and made you feel complete in a way you didn't know you weren't. I didn't know what it would be like to lose myself, to find myself, to recreate myself, and to do it all again. I didn't know how long it would be until I'd sleep, until I'd have my body to myself again (well, I'm still waiting for that one), until I'd find a way to make peace with all the things that had changed and all the things that didn't have to.

 This time? I'm terrified.

 Who is she going to be? Who am I going to be? These weren't even questions that came into my mind the first time around. What's going to happen to my sweet, crazy making eldest daughter? Is this going to change her? Is that a good thing?

 Are we all going to be okay?

 No amount of planning and calculating, of freezing dinners, of arranging help is going to make all these questions go away. There's nothing I can do to fix this, nothing I can do to make any of this less real. I feel envious of people who are excited, I feel angry that I'm so overcome by fear and uncertainty, I feel guilty for not feeling gushy and happy about my coming bundle of joy.

 But it is what it is, and where I am, and who I am. It's real and it's valid and it's okay.

 At least that's what I'm telling myself.