So, its finally official. We are moving into our new house on Thursday! We will no longer be renting and the money that we pay every month will really be going somewhere. I feel this incredible sense of financial freedom and fulfillment knowing that we won't be pouring hundreds of dollars down a bottomless pit known as the landlord's pocket every month.
The house that we bought, though, is smaller than the one that we've been renting for the past year. We've been going through things and Goodwill has received quite a few of our belongings that have been gathering dust. My mother-in-law has offered part of her garage as storage, so the things that I'm not ready to part with are heading up the road to her place, within easy reach if we need them.
I'm both exhilarated and terrified by this move. The responsibility that comes with home ownership is a weighty matter but when I walk in the door of the new place all I can think is "Mine, mine, mine... all mine," and then I do a little happy dance.
And then Jym gives me the look that lets me know that he thinks I've lost my mind and that he thinks its pretty cute. You guys know the look, that one that says you're crazy and he loves you anyway. Its a look that I receive on a fairly regular basis.
Anyway, we have lots of plans for the new place. Its an older house, built in 1953, and there are lots of things that we want to do to it. We've already painted Alex's room, but we still need to paint pretty much everything else and there's wallpaper in both bathrooms that has got. to. go. I hate wallpaper and who puts it up in a bathroom? All of the seams are peeling and it looks horrible. Once it comes down I will be a happier person.
We will eventually remodel both bathrooms, but that's pretty expensive. It'll probably be awhile, but when it happens we'll be replacing the vanities and the tubs, putting in new linoleum and hopefully (fingers crossed) installing heating under the tiles in the master bath.
A kitchen remodel is also on the list, hopefully with an expansion. The current kitchen is small, but workable, so that's a very long term plan. Kitchens are insanely expensive and expanding the space will make it even more expensive. But I'm already dreaming about the changes that we'll make. I'm practically giddy with the realization that I don't have to ask permission to make changes to my home. Yay! No landlord!
Does anyone out there have any stories (good or bad) about remodeling? I'm both looking forward to and dreading the process and I'd love to hear about your experiences.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Birthing
There's been a fair amount of talk around the blogosphere lately about how our babies came into the world and the feelings that invokes in us. Linda over at All & Sundry and Julie at A Little Pregnant both wrote wonderful eloquent posts about it.
Its a topic that is often on my mind. Every time a woman a work gives birth or announces that she's pregnant I can't help but look back on the experience that I had and mourn the way that I thought it would be. I wanted to try an all natural birth (please note the word "try") because I didn't like the idea of bringing my son into the world with my body full of drugs (Also, I know that I would feel like a total bad ass if I managed to do it drug free). I wasn't closed to the idea of medications, but I was firmly on the side of "Give it my best shot."
When I was told, in my 30th week, that my amniotic fluid was almost gone and that Alex wasn't growing I still held out hope that things would work out the way that I wanted. My doctor (who is wonderful by the way, if you live in Knoxville and want a recommendation for an OB/GYN shoot me an e-mail) put me on bedrest at home after my Thursday appointment, with another ultrasound scheduled for the following Monday to check on things. By Monday, thanks to the GALLONS of water that I had consumed, my fluid had come back up enough that I was allowed to return to work on light duty, sit-down tasks only.
A little less than 2 weeks later I was back for another appointment (I had a lot of appointments and ultrasounds because I was high risk). Another Thursday, June 26th. This time there was so little fluid that the ultrasound tech couldn't even measure it in most places that she tried. And worse news, my placenta was in full blown deterioration mode, failing to supply enough blood to my son. I was sent immediately to Labor & Delivery, hooked up to monitors and an IV and placed on bedrest. I was allowed to get up to use the bathroom and for 15 additional minutes each day (trailing an IV pole around... fun!). The neonatologist visited, my doctor consulted with a bunch of other doctors and I spent a lot of time crying in that hospital bed.
I was told that unless everything fixed itself by Monday morning that I would be having a C-section, that my son would need to spend weeks in the hospital. I hoped, against all hope, that things would get better. I was on IV fluids and drinking as much water as I could stomach in order to get my fluid levels back up. I urged my body to fix my placenta (it doesn't really listen to me, but I had to give it a try), I begged the universe to make Alex grow so that I could stay pregnant longer and give him a better chance of being born healthy. I received my steroid shots, but not happily, because once you get those you pretty much know that you're having a preemie.
By Saturday night I was starting to come to terms, in a very superficial way, that I was having a C-section. I hadn't even begun to process the emotions, but the realist in me was gearing up for action. I knew that a healthy baby was all that mattered and my head was ready to deal with that.
Sunday morning, very early, I woke up with a blinding headache. They gave me Demerol; it didn't work. They gave me more Demerol; it didn't work either. My blood pressure was spiking so they hooked me up to a magnesium sulfate drip; it didn't work. I was in too much pain to panic and the drugs made me stupid, so I didn't really process what was happening. At some point a nurse came in and gave me a bunch of consent forms. She read them to me because I was too far gone to comprehend the written word at that point and before she would let me sign them she asked me if I knew what was happening. In the only funny part of the morning I said "You're going to cut me open." In response to her horrified look I informed her, "To get the baby out, duh." In my mind she was obviously confused about what was happening and I had to set her straight. My mom, who was with me at the time, laughed her ass off.
Shortly after I was was wheeled in my bed to the OR, in my bed (Just like on TV, yay!). My spinal was put into place, they laid me back and I got a catheter (which is just as much fun as you can imagine). I remember that I kept asking for Jym, but not much else. Then Jym was there, with his hand on my arm. Finally the spinal had me numb and they began. I'm told that it was very fast, just a few minutes from the first incision to Alex's birth, but I couldn't swear to that in court because I kept going in and out of consciousness. I don't remember his first cry, I didn't get to hold him, I didn't get to nurse him. I didn't even get to see most of him. One quick glimpse after he was cleaned, weighed and swaddled and then they took him to the NICU and me to recovery.
The rest of the day is a blur. I know that Dana came and saw me because there are pictures. I know that I was taken in my wheelchair to see Alex (catheter, IV and all), because there are pictures. A picture of my hand cradling his tiny head, seeming to engulf it. A picture of his perfect face, dwarfed by the pacifier laying next to it. A pacifier that looks like it was made for a giant baby, it covered half of his face, but it was the smallest that the NICU had.
I spent many hours next to his isolette, staring at him, memorizing his features. And all the while, regret and grief coursed through my body. I knew that this was the one chance that I had to do this. My health is not conducive to making babies. My doctor didn't really expect me to make it out of my first trimester and when I did I really began to hope and dream about the experience I wanted to have.
I still grieve over the loss of what I wanted. I know, we all know, that the end result is what's important. The baby at the end of the process is what matters, not how he got here. But...
But I look at my beautiful, perfect, happy, healthy son and it just doesn't seem all that important.
Its a topic that is often on my mind. Every time a woman a work gives birth or announces that she's pregnant I can't help but look back on the experience that I had and mourn the way that I thought it would be. I wanted to try an all natural birth (please note the word "try") because I didn't like the idea of bringing my son into the world with my body full of drugs (Also, I know that I would feel like a total bad ass if I managed to do it drug free). I wasn't closed to the idea of medications, but I was firmly on the side of "Give it my best shot."
When I was told, in my 30th week, that my amniotic fluid was almost gone and that Alex wasn't growing I still held out hope that things would work out the way that I wanted. My doctor (who is wonderful by the way, if you live in Knoxville and want a recommendation for an OB/GYN shoot me an e-mail) put me on bedrest at home after my Thursday appointment, with another ultrasound scheduled for the following Monday to check on things. By Monday, thanks to the GALLONS of water that I had consumed, my fluid had come back up enough that I was allowed to return to work on light duty, sit-down tasks only.
A little less than 2 weeks later I was back for another appointment (I had a lot of appointments and ultrasounds because I was high risk). Another Thursday, June 26th. This time there was so little fluid that the ultrasound tech couldn't even measure it in most places that she tried. And worse news, my placenta was in full blown deterioration mode, failing to supply enough blood to my son. I was sent immediately to Labor & Delivery, hooked up to monitors and an IV and placed on bedrest. I was allowed to get up to use the bathroom and for 15 additional minutes each day (trailing an IV pole around... fun!). The neonatologist visited, my doctor consulted with a bunch of other doctors and I spent a lot of time crying in that hospital bed.
I was told that unless everything fixed itself by Monday morning that I would be having a C-section, that my son would need to spend weeks in the hospital. I hoped, against all hope, that things would get better. I was on IV fluids and drinking as much water as I could stomach in order to get my fluid levels back up. I urged my body to fix my placenta (it doesn't really listen to me, but I had to give it a try), I begged the universe to make Alex grow so that I could stay pregnant longer and give him a better chance of being born healthy. I received my steroid shots, but not happily, because once you get those you pretty much know that you're having a preemie.
By Saturday night I was starting to come to terms, in a very superficial way, that I was having a C-section. I hadn't even begun to process the emotions, but the realist in me was gearing up for action. I knew that a healthy baby was all that mattered and my head was ready to deal with that.
Sunday morning, very early, I woke up with a blinding headache. They gave me Demerol; it didn't work. They gave me more Demerol; it didn't work either. My blood pressure was spiking so they hooked me up to a magnesium sulfate drip; it didn't work. I was in too much pain to panic and the drugs made me stupid, so I didn't really process what was happening. At some point a nurse came in and gave me a bunch of consent forms. She read them to me because I was too far gone to comprehend the written word at that point and before she would let me sign them she asked me if I knew what was happening. In the only funny part of the morning I said "You're going to cut me open." In response to her horrified look I informed her, "To get the baby out, duh." In my mind she was obviously confused about what was happening and I had to set her straight. My mom, who was with me at the time, laughed her ass off.
Shortly after I was was wheeled in my bed to the OR, in my bed (Just like on TV, yay!). My spinal was put into place, they laid me back and I got a catheter (which is just as much fun as you can imagine). I remember that I kept asking for Jym, but not much else. Then Jym was there, with his hand on my arm. Finally the spinal had me numb and they began. I'm told that it was very fast, just a few minutes from the first incision to Alex's birth, but I couldn't swear to that in court because I kept going in and out of consciousness. I don't remember his first cry, I didn't get to hold him, I didn't get to nurse him. I didn't even get to see most of him. One quick glimpse after he was cleaned, weighed and swaddled and then they took him to the NICU and me to recovery.
The rest of the day is a blur. I know that Dana came and saw me because there are pictures. I know that I was taken in my wheelchair to see Alex (catheter, IV and all), because there are pictures. A picture of my hand cradling his tiny head, seeming to engulf it. A picture of his perfect face, dwarfed by the pacifier laying next to it. A pacifier that looks like it was made for a giant baby, it covered half of his face, but it was the smallest that the NICU had.
I spent many hours next to his isolette, staring at him, memorizing his features. And all the while, regret and grief coursed through my body. I knew that this was the one chance that I had to do this. My health is not conducive to making babies. My doctor didn't really expect me to make it out of my first trimester and when I did I really began to hope and dream about the experience I wanted to have.
I still grieve over the loss of what I wanted. I know, we all know, that the end result is what's important. The baby at the end of the process is what matters, not how he got here. But...
But I look at my beautiful, perfect, happy, healthy son and it just doesn't seem all that important.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
No Cool Spots On My Pillow
Is there some law of the universe that causes all babies, upon turning one year old, to become deranged monsters, intent on destroying the home they live in and their parents' sanity?
Alex was always such a laid back baby (except when he first came home, but that doesn't count, he only weighed 4 pounds). He was content to lie on a blanket, to play with his with his toys, to explore the areas of the house that we deemed safe (i.e. no litter box or sharp pointy things). I could go to the bathroom, eat a meal, check the mail, make a sandwich... no problems. He slept through the night, except for a few peeps that quickly passed. He ate everything that we placed in his general vicinity (okay, this is still true, but it seemed like this list needed three things... you know, to round it out.)
No more easy going baby. He has left the building, replaced in the night by this active, mobile, curious, loud, demanding, angry child.
Put him down: wails and teeth gnashing along with noodles for legs that leave him crumpled on the floor in a pathetic heap.
Leave the room: howls of outrage and despair and possibly even betrayal (How can you go to the bathroom!! Don't you love me anymore?!?!).
Try to give him the milk when what he wants is the banana: look of disgust, cries of anger, cup to the floor and an attempt to hurl himself from the highchair.
The sleep, though. That's what's killing me.
He wakes up and howls sometime between 2 and 3, but settles back to sleep with relatively little trouble. The trouble come about 6:30. He wakens, realizes he's alone and turns on his music box. This amuses him for about 0.3 seconds. Then he gets bored and since he's still exhausted (he went to bed at 11, after all) he starts screaming. Immediate satisfaction is demanded. My sleep fogged brain is yanked from slumber, adrenaline pumping. Is the house on fire? Did someone break in? Did someone break in and set the house on fire? Did someone break in and set Alex on fire?
The answer, of course, is none of the above. He just wants Mommy and Daddy. I stumble to his room, pick him up, cuddle him and dry his tears. He is now content and sleepy once again. They I try to put him back in the crib. This is a huge mistake, as I should know by now. He switches back into full blown panic mode, so I pick him back up and make my way back to bed.
Alex collapses on my chest and immediately passes out; I do the same. Jym has slept through all of this. Sounds good, right? Everyone's asleep so it should be good?
Wrong.
Jym is a furnace. Sleeping with him is like sleeping next to a campfire... in the middle of the summer... is equatorial Brazil. Alex has inherited this trait. What this means, for me at least, is sweat, and overheating and NO SLEEP! I wake up, over and over again. I try to switch to a cooler spot on the pillow. Sadly, it turns out there are no cool spots left on the pillow. But it is damp with sweat, so that's a great bonus!
Jym and Alex sleep on, blissfully unaware of the heat wave under the sheets while I doze fitfully until Alex wakes up for good, around 9:30 or 10. Then its time for breakfast and to start the day. Zombie Mommy strikes again.
This gets better, right? He will start sleeping better before college, right? Right?!
Alex was always such a laid back baby (except when he first came home, but that doesn't count, he only weighed 4 pounds). He was content to lie on a blanket, to play with his with his toys, to explore the areas of the house that we deemed safe (i.e. no litter box or sharp pointy things). I could go to the bathroom, eat a meal, check the mail, make a sandwich... no problems. He slept through the night, except for a few peeps that quickly passed. He ate everything that we placed in his general vicinity (okay, this is still true, but it seemed like this list needed three things... you know, to round it out.)
No more easy going baby. He has left the building, replaced in the night by this active, mobile, curious, loud, demanding, angry child.
Put him down: wails and teeth gnashing along with noodles for legs that leave him crumpled on the floor in a pathetic heap.
Leave the room: howls of outrage and despair and possibly even betrayal (How can you go to the bathroom!! Don't you love me anymore?!?!).
Try to give him the milk when what he wants is the banana: look of disgust, cries of anger, cup to the floor and an attempt to hurl himself from the highchair.
The sleep, though. That's what's killing me.
He wakes up and howls sometime between 2 and 3, but settles back to sleep with relatively little trouble. The trouble come about 6:30. He wakens, realizes he's alone and turns on his music box. This amuses him for about 0.3 seconds. Then he gets bored and since he's still exhausted (he went to bed at 11, after all) he starts screaming. Immediate satisfaction is demanded. My sleep fogged brain is yanked from slumber, adrenaline pumping. Is the house on fire? Did someone break in? Did someone break in and set the house on fire? Did someone break in and set Alex on fire?
The answer, of course, is none of the above. He just wants Mommy and Daddy. I stumble to his room, pick him up, cuddle him and dry his tears. He is now content and sleepy once again. They I try to put him back in the crib. This is a huge mistake, as I should know by now. He switches back into full blown panic mode, so I pick him back up and make my way back to bed.
Alex collapses on my chest and immediately passes out; I do the same. Jym has slept through all of this. Sounds good, right? Everyone's asleep so it should be good?
Wrong.
Jym is a furnace. Sleeping with him is like sleeping next to a campfire... in the middle of the summer... is equatorial Brazil. Alex has inherited this trait. What this means, for me at least, is sweat, and overheating and NO SLEEP! I wake up, over and over again. I try to switch to a cooler spot on the pillow. Sadly, it turns out there are no cool spots left on the pillow. But it is damp with sweat, so that's a great bonus!
Jym and Alex sleep on, blissfully unaware of the heat wave under the sheets while I doze fitfully until Alex wakes up for good, around 9:30 or 10. Then its time for breakfast and to start the day. Zombie Mommy strikes again.
This gets better, right? He will start sleeping better before college, right? Right?!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Alex - One Year
Alex turned one on Monday, June 29th. He had his one year check-up today.
Birth Stats
3 lbs, 7.7 ozs
16.25 inches
One Year
19 lbs, 9 ozs
28.25 inches
What a difference a year makes.
A year ago he was lying in the hospital, impossibly small. Today he grins at me and squeals with delight when I make one of his toy cars flip over. He pulls up on anything that will hold still (furniture, grown-ups, the cat... poor long suffering cat). He climbed up into my chair today, pulling on my pants leg and hoisting himself up with just the strength in his own body.
A year ago he had his first meal, 3 milliliters of expressed breast milk. Today he ate oatmeal,carrots, cereal puffs, most of a banana, what seemed like an entire zucchini and squash, mashed potatoes, juice, milk; I had to stop giving him the zucchini because just because its veggies doesn't mean its not overeating.
A year ago we had to weigh his diapers to make sure that he was peeing enough, checking that he was getting enough fluid from his IV and the milk he was tube fed. Today... well let's just say that we're no longer concerned about whether or not he pees enough.
A year ago I was crying in my hospital room, recovering from an emergency C-section, knowing that I would go home without my baby. Today we popped him in his car seat and took him to Pizzeria Uno (where he ate most of the previously mentioned veggies), just that easy.
He's strong and he's healthy. The heart murmur they picked up early on has vanished. His umbilical hernia has healed itself. He has eczema, but so do I, so no biggie. We'll put some cream on it and thank the universe for sparing us.
He's a normal one year old, this close to walking. He has several words and he actually listens to me when I tell him to put something in his toy bucket or to bring me something (I don't expect this to last long).
This year has been terribly hard and wonderfully easy at the same time.
Breastfeeding was hard, so hard. Milk that never came in, nipples that were bigger than his mouth. Giving it up was painful, but necessary for my sanity and my relationship with Alex. Feeding was never easy in those first months, but letting go of the guilt about my "failure" made meals a pleasure again. A time to smell his sweet hair and nuzzle his cheeks. Now, he eats like a champ and will even share with me (i.e. forcibly shoves food in my mouth when he thinks something is especially tasty).
Co-sleeping, once I gave up on the bassinet, was sweet, lovely and hard to give up, even when the karate chops to the throat and the kicks to the crotch made sleeping difficult. Snuggling Alex to sleep at night is still one of the greatest pleasures in my life. Sometimes I get him out of his crib when I go to bed just so I can wake up to his sweet smile.
He is an active, sweet, demanding, generous, sometimes cuddly, all-boy kind of boy. I can't wait to see what happens this year.
Birth Stats
3 lbs, 7.7 ozs
16.25 inches
One Year
19 lbs, 9 ozs
28.25 inches
What a difference a year makes.
A year ago he was lying in the hospital, impossibly small. Today he grins at me and squeals with delight when I make one of his toy cars flip over. He pulls up on anything that will hold still (furniture, grown-ups, the cat... poor long suffering cat). He climbed up into my chair today, pulling on my pants leg and hoisting himself up with just the strength in his own body.
A year ago he had his first meal, 3 milliliters of expressed breast milk. Today he ate oatmeal,carrots, cereal puffs, most of a banana, what seemed like an entire zucchini and squash, mashed potatoes, juice, milk; I had to stop giving him the zucchini because just because its veggies doesn't mean its not overeating.
A year ago we had to weigh his diapers to make sure that he was peeing enough, checking that he was getting enough fluid from his IV and the milk he was tube fed. Today... well let's just say that we're no longer concerned about whether or not he pees enough.
A year ago I was crying in my hospital room, recovering from an emergency C-section, knowing that I would go home without my baby. Today we popped him in his car seat and took him to Pizzeria Uno (where he ate most of the previously mentioned veggies), just that easy.
He's strong and he's healthy. The heart murmur they picked up early on has vanished. His umbilical hernia has healed itself. He has eczema, but so do I, so no biggie. We'll put some cream on it and thank the universe for sparing us.
He's a normal one year old, this close to walking. He has several words and he actually listens to me when I tell him to put something in his toy bucket or to bring me something (I don't expect this to last long).
This year has been terribly hard and wonderfully easy at the same time.
Breastfeeding was hard, so hard. Milk that never came in, nipples that were bigger than his mouth. Giving it up was painful, but necessary for my sanity and my relationship with Alex. Feeding was never easy in those first months, but letting go of the guilt about my "failure" made meals a pleasure again. A time to smell his sweet hair and nuzzle his cheeks. Now, he eats like a champ and will even share with me (i.e. forcibly shoves food in my mouth when he thinks something is especially tasty).
Co-sleeping, once I gave up on the bassinet, was sweet, lovely and hard to give up, even when the karate chops to the throat and the kicks to the crotch made sleeping difficult. Snuggling Alex to sleep at night is still one of the greatest pleasures in my life. Sometimes I get him out of his crib when I go to bed just so I can wake up to his sweet smile.
He is an active, sweet, demanding, generous, sometimes cuddly, all-boy kind of boy. I can't wait to see what happens this year.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Looking Up
Tuesday was a hard day for me. I was feeling overwhelmed, beaten down from the inside. Today... well, I feel a little better. I'm certainly not happy-go-lucky, la-la-la, but it wasn't such a bad day.
I saw something that moved me, made me think that maybe someone's keeping an eye on me. When I got out of my car at work on Wednesday afternoon I spotted an odd shadow on the hood of my car. Glancing up at the antenna I saw a butterfly perched on top. It was slowly batting it's wings in the hot summer breeze. It's wings were torn, battered. They didn't look capable of achieving flight. But, there it was, keeping on, slowly fluttering. Glancing back on my way to the door I saw it take flight, spiraling into the sky, soaring away.
I don't know if its a sign; I don't know if I even believe in signs, but I think that I'm going to keep fluttering along. Maybe someday I'll soar again, too.
I saw something that moved me, made me think that maybe someone's keeping an eye on me. When I got out of my car at work on Wednesday afternoon I spotted an odd shadow on the hood of my car. Glancing up at the antenna I saw a butterfly perched on top. It was slowly batting it's wings in the hot summer breeze. It's wings were torn, battered. They didn't look capable of achieving flight. But, there it was, keeping on, slowly fluttering. Glancing back on my way to the door I saw it take flight, spiraling into the sky, soaring away.
I don't know if its a sign; I don't know if I even believe in signs, but I think that I'm going to keep fluttering along. Maybe someday I'll soar again, too.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Missing You
How is it possible to miss someone you never even got the chance to meet? My heart has been heavy lately. I cry at unexpected moments and Jym is helpless to make it better. My sadness breaks his heart and baffles him. It hurts me to know that I'm hurting him, but I can't chase these feelings away.
Tonight, to myself at least, I finally let myself say the things that I needed to say.
I miss you. I want you back. I never got to meet you, and I never will, but I miss you like an open wound in my heart. If I could go back and change it all, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I know that nothing can change. You would still be gone and I'll always wonder who you would have looked like and think about the name I would have given you. I can only hope that there really is a place beyond this world, somewhere where we can meet and I can hold you in my arms.
I love you, precious baby.
Tonight, to myself at least, I finally let myself say the things that I needed to say.
I miss you. I want you back. I never got to meet you, and I never will, but I miss you like an open wound in my heart. If I could go back and change it all, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I know that nothing can change. You would still be gone and I'll always wonder who you would have looked like and think about the name I would have given you. I can only hope that there really is a place beyond this world, somewhere where we can meet and I can hold you in my arms.
I love you, precious baby.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day
To Jym: loving husband, gentle father.
You will teach our son all of the important things in life.
You will show him what it is to be a man, to take care of your family, to make the sacrifices that are necessary to create a better life for us. He will see what it is to love a woman, to treat her with respect when all the world around us is showing him that its okay to put a woman down and treat her like a slut and nothing more than an object.
You will teach him baseball and math and hopefully how to hit the toilet when he pees. So many things that I can't even put into words. So many things that add up to being a dad. Everyday you will be here and he will see that.
Thank you Jym for making this surprise addition to our family a joy, for showing me that you are the father that I always thought you would be.
You will teach our son all of the important things in life.
You will show him what it is to be a man, to take care of your family, to make the sacrifices that are necessary to create a better life for us. He will see what it is to love a woman, to treat her with respect when all the world around us is showing him that its okay to put a woman down and treat her like a slut and nothing more than an object.
You will teach him baseball and math and hopefully how to hit the toilet when he pees. So many things that I can't even put into words. So many things that add up to being a dad. Everyday you will be here and he will see that.
Thank you Jym for making this surprise addition to our family a joy, for showing me that you are the father that I always thought you would be.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Falling
The amount of love and trust that my son gives me everyday is almost overwhelming. He knows that I will feed him, that I will give him kisses and cuddles, that I will play with him. And most of all that I will catch him.
He throws himself at me in the mornings, when we're lying in bed. I catch him in my arms and cuddle him close, only to have him struggle away so he can climb on Jym. Then he throws himself at me again, smiling the sweetest smile ever to grace a baby's face.
He climbs up to my shoulders when I'm standing in the bathroom, eager to get to the highest point. Then, with what I would swear is a maniacal glint in his eye, he flings himself to the side, grinning as my arms raise up to swing him around.
He sits on my lap, poking my nose and teeth. Then he slowly leans back, waiting this time, for me to grab his hands and hang him upside-down. Up and down, upright, upside-down. Over and over I catch him and keep him from smashing his precious little noggin on the hardwood that lies in wait.
And the joy on his face when I toss him above my head, the squeals of laughter as he flies through the air and again lands safely in my arms, it makes my heart feel as though it will burst out of my chest.
Except that it already has, and its crawling around the house, climbing on the furniture. All I can do is chase to keep up with my heart, to keep my baby boy safe. To make sure that he knows that he is loved. To catch him when he falls.
He throws himself at me in the mornings, when we're lying in bed. I catch him in my arms and cuddle him close, only to have him struggle away so he can climb on Jym. Then he throws himself at me again, smiling the sweetest smile ever to grace a baby's face.
He climbs up to my shoulders when I'm standing in the bathroom, eager to get to the highest point. Then, with what I would swear is a maniacal glint in his eye, he flings himself to the side, grinning as my arms raise up to swing him around.
He sits on my lap, poking my nose and teeth. Then he slowly leans back, waiting this time, for me to grab his hands and hang him upside-down. Up and down, upright, upside-down. Over and over I catch him and keep him from smashing his precious little noggin on the hardwood that lies in wait.
And the joy on his face when I toss him above my head, the squeals of laughter as he flies through the air and again lands safely in my arms, it makes my heart feel as though it will burst out of my chest.
Except that it already has, and its crawling around the house, climbing on the furniture. All I can do is chase to keep up with my heart, to keep my baby boy safe. To make sure that he knows that he is loved. To catch him when he falls.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Ick
Alex let us sleep in today. When I woke up, about an hour or so after I usually do, my first thought (Okay, my second thought. The first one was "I'm not tired. How'd that happen?") was to wonder what was wrong. Alex never lets us sleep late anymore. He's all "eh, eh, eh" and come get me mama as soon as his eyes open in the morning.
So, I went to check on him. As soon as I opened the door he started to stir, so I picked him up and took him back to our room. I figured I could get some cuddles before he started to throw himself recklessly at every dangerous object in the house. I laid down in the bed with him and he let his head sink to my chest. I buried my nose in his hair and took a big deep breath, looking for that elusive baby smell that seems to be disappearing at an alarming rate. I did not find the wonderful baby smell. What I found was... less pleasant.
Sometime in the night Alex puked on himself. And I let him sleep in it! Because I am clearly a candidate for mother of the year. His hair was crusty with it, the sheets were covered, even the side of the crib had ick all over it. And his beloved dragon, the one that my mother bought for him the day he was born, the one that he has never slept without, was coated in the stuff.
He seems fine now, but ick indeed.
So, I went to check on him. As soon as I opened the door he started to stir, so I picked him up and took him back to our room. I figured I could get some cuddles before he started to throw himself recklessly at every dangerous object in the house. I laid down in the bed with him and he let his head sink to my chest. I buried my nose in his hair and took a big deep breath, looking for that elusive baby smell that seems to be disappearing at an alarming rate. I did not find the wonderful baby smell. What I found was... less pleasant.
Sometime in the night Alex puked on himself. And I let him sleep in it! Because I am clearly a candidate for mother of the year. His hair was crusty with it, the sheets were covered, even the side of the crib had ick all over it. And his beloved dragon, the one that my mother bought for him the day he was born, the one that he has never slept without, was coated in the stuff.
He seems fine now, but ick indeed.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Late Nights
I am an idiot.
Its late and I should be in bed, sleeping. Alex gets up late, around 10:30 or so (please don't hate me; he also goes to bed late), but I should still get to bed at a reasonable hour. Instead, I sit on my computer reading blogs, poking around Facebook and endlessly checking my e-mail. This is not the type of responsible behavior you expect from a 32 year old woman with a small child.
My husband doesn't help. He too sits on the computer until the wee hours. When we are computing together, side-by-side (okay, actually in separate rooms, but its the feel of thing, you understand) it feels as though we are doing something, as opposed to staring mindlessly at the TV. I have mentioned my television addiction, right? So we sit, and we stare at separate screens. Occasionally, I send Jym an IM on Facebook. He thinks this is strange behavior, since I'm only about 15 feet away, but hey, I get my fun where I can.
I've got to get out of this rut, staying up late for no reason. The real problem though is that I have trouble falling asleep. I'll lie in bed for what seems like hours, Jym snoring merrily beside me, until my body finally gives it up in exhaustion. I just can't seem to turn off my mind. My thoughts spiral endlessly:
Its late and I should be in bed, sleeping. Alex gets up late, around 10:30 or so (please don't hate me; he also goes to bed late), but I should still get to bed at a reasonable hour. Instead, I sit on my computer reading blogs, poking around Facebook and endlessly checking my e-mail. This is not the type of responsible behavior you expect from a 32 year old woman with a small child.
My husband doesn't help. He too sits on the computer until the wee hours. When we are computing together, side-by-side (okay, actually in separate rooms, but its the feel of thing, you understand) it feels as though we are doing something, as opposed to staring mindlessly at the TV. I have mentioned my television addiction, right? So we sit, and we stare at separate screens. Occasionally, I send Jym an IM on Facebook. He thinks this is strange behavior, since I'm only about 15 feet away, but hey, I get my fun where I can.
I've got to get out of this rut, staying up late for no reason. The real problem though is that I have trouble falling asleep. I'll lie in bed for what seems like hours, Jym snoring merrily beside me, until my body finally gives it up in exhaustion. I just can't seem to turn off my mind. My thoughts spiral endlessly:
- Alex will probably wake us up in about 6 hours. I should go to sleep now
- I have to work tomorrow. I should go to sleep now.
- I should go put a load of laundry in so I can throw it in the dryer before I go to work.
- I forgot to clean the litter box. Jym will be unhappy. Maybe I'll go do it now. No, I should go to sleep now.
- I wonder if Swistle posted anything tonight? I'll just check on my phone. No, put the phone down. Go to sleep now.
- I need to pee. I think I'll go do that and then I'll go to sleep.
- Fuck... the toilet flushing woke up Alex. Maybe if I lie very still and breathe quietly he won't know I'm awake and we can all go to sleep.
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