Edson at 6 months

Things I Love

• Daddy.
• My new exersaucer.  It lights up and sings!  There is even a dragonfly for me to chew on.
• Napkins.
• Hair.  It's soft AND pullable!  It's the best toy ever!
• Music.  I (Mary) have been singing him to sleep for many of his naps.  It started out as a last resort - a kind of I've-tried-everything-and-I'm-about-to-go-insane trick, but I've grown to like it as much as he does.  He also loves it when we play music (all kinds - I don't think he favors one genre over another yet).  His exersaucer plays a really catchy song about the primary colors that makes him light up when he hears it.
• Licking the floor. Hardwood, carpet, or grass.  Forget this nice soft blanket, I want to lick the thing that makes mom wince a little.

Scooting off the playmat (probably to lick the carpet)

Gazing at daddy

Things I don't like

• Taking naps
• My hat
• When anyone takes away a napkin I'm trying to eat
• Being by myself in the backseat of the car

New Talents

• I can grab my toes
• I can roll over both ways!
• I can scoot to any corner of the room (usually to lick the floor or eat a napkin)
• I can play peek-a-boo holding my own blanket over my eyes and pulling it away
• I can remove my hat

Kissing daddy

His first time in the exersaucer!  He can't pick which toy to play with first.

The first time I caught him scooting across the room to eat paper.  He did this in the time it took me to fill up a mug of coffee and come immediately back.

Insanity! Beating the Jelly into Submission

7 things I would like to see in my Insanity DVDs:

1. Women who have to stop exercising periodically because they have to yawn so big they can't breathe.
2. Women who have to pause because their baby is crying.
3. Women who have to wear 2 sports bras or else their boobs hurt so bad from bouncing that they have to hold them to their chests with one arm.  I used to think these women just didn't have bras that fit.  I was wrong.
4. Anyone yell obscenities at Shaun T.  I can't be the only one.
5. Women who have jelly-bellies, stretch marks, or a linea negra.
6. Milk marks.
7. Anyone gasp witty comebacks at Shaun T.  For example:  Shaun, "You have to focus here!" Me, "I'll focus on (gasp for breath) punching your face (gasp)!"

That said, I do think Shaun T is the least annoying of the exercise-video-coaches I've tried.  And while it's taken me about double the time to do the 60-day series, I'm pretty happy with it overall.  I feel strong.  I have muscles again.  And, I still have a dozen workouts left before my last fit-test and I'm kind of excited to see how I do. 

20 weeks

20 weeks

20 weeks

Summertime!

As usual, I've been remiss in my blogging duties.  I've been pretty determined to savor this time with Edson, so that's my excuse!  It will be nice to do more reflecting and documenting.  We've been having a blast so far.  We've introduced Edson to our kiddie pool (full disclosure: purchased last summer for us) and laughed at him pretty thoroughly.  When he's initially dunked, he does this awesome expression (watch his mouth) and arm-flapping:

After the first shock wears off, he has a grand old time:

We did this again in a warmish stream (with a life jacket), a big swimming pool, and the splash pad at a park.  I really want him to like swimming.  This is partly because I really love swimming and I spent hours and hours swimming at the lake, and partly because I'll feel a little better water-safety wise if he's a strong swimming.  I recognize both those things as first-time-mom folly. 

A few weeks ago, the three of us joined some of our favorite people at Birch Bay to celebrate an anniversary in the best possible way: renewing vows with the community that publicly said we'd help support them.  On the beach.  With s'mores and little crabs.

This weekend really reinforced how much I love my friends - and how much I've missed them in this time transitioning to a different church.  They are some of the best people in the world, and I am so thankful for them.

David and I have also spent some time up at the river.  So far, we've mostly just cleaned the cabin to make it habitable (mouse feces... yuck).  Last weekend, though, David took Edson for an hour or so and let me play with my fun camera lens.

Body: I don't think you're ready for this jelly

My body is amazing.  Sometimes I look at Crusher's little hands with his itty bitty fingerprints or his beautiful eyes looking around in wonder at the world and think, "Wow.  God used my body to make this child.  He was an egg and now he's a boy." My organs moved for him.  My uterus grew enormous and then shrank back to the way it was.  My boobs make him food.  It's crazy and miraculous and wonderful.

However...

Right after having Crusher I felt completely disgusting.  I hurt.  My hormones were going nuts.  There were icky fluids coming out of everywhere - blood, milk leaking out all over my clothes, night sweats. My hips and thighs were bigger than before (and they were plenty big to begin with) and I had this jelly belly.  Seriously, it looked as though there were a thick layer of jelly between my skin and my abs.  Complete with a linea negra that doesn't seem to want to fade.  The belly has gone down substantially since, but at seven weeks postpartum I still don't fit into real pants.  I wear yoga pants, leggings, sweats, and maternity jeans if I must.  I don't actually like real pants, but that's beside the point.  I have a closet full of clothes that I can't wear. I avoid looking in the mirror.  I dress as quickly as possible.  I cringe inside if my husband's in the room when the belly is showing.

How do I reconcile my wonder with my miracle-body with my horror at my still-healing-flubby body?

In my rational brain, I know it just takes time (if it took 9 months to gain the weight, it's not just going to disappear) and exercise and healthy eating.  In my panicked emotional brain, I fear and make excuses.  It's hard to make time to exercise when one has a needy baby who doesn't like to nap in his crib.  It's also hard to exercise with gigantic, leaky boobies.  It's hard to find time to prepare healthy food when my window of having two free hands is unpredictable.  I start cooking projects and have to abandon them because Crusher's crying. It's hard to be patient with some of my other postpartum friends and relations already fit in their gosh durned pants.

That's my whining party.  Hopefully, by ranting about it I can put it aside and be done for a while.  I have a gorgeous, healthy baby.  My husband watches him so I can exercise sometimes (like today!  Wahoo!).  I didn't buy the chips I wanted very much all week.  (I did buy the cinnamon rolls, but nobody's perfect.)

As an aside, I had David take before pictures for an exercise regimen I may or may not be able to complete (it requires 45 minutes 6 days a week).  I haven't been brave enough to look at them myself, and rest assured, dear readers, you will probably never have to see them.  Here's hoping there are decent after pictures eventually.  Even if there aren't, he's worth it.

7 Weeks

Things I love:

• Snuggles
• Baths (any bath is great, but full immersion makes me giggle and splash)
• Daddy (he makes me smile more than anyone else)
• Eating
• Tummy rubs
• My Pooh and Eeyore dangling chimes
• Staring at the screen/windows/ceiling fan/walls
• Being held by someone bouncing on the yoga ball

Things I don't like:

• Clothes
• My crib
• The carseat
• Really, anything restrictive

New talents

• Smiling for reals (not for gas)
• Swatting at things
• Saving up all my poop for 2 weeks for when I'm at dinner with friends
• Grabbing handfuls of hair or flesh and squeezing

Looking serious (before pooping)

So happy! (after pooping)

Heart-melting smile (at the ceiling fan... not mom)

It's natural! Like a kidney stone. Or Ebola.

Last night I dreamt I was signed up for a four mile race.  There were three interesting points:  1) I had to carry Crusher while running, 2) The first mile was slogging through waist-deep ocean water, and 3) I was wearing rubber rain boots (a-la Landon).  I ran my heart out and thought I had a good chance of winning, but I came in last.  I lost so miserably that all the other contestants had already finished their post-race barbecue parties in the stadium.

That is how I feel about breastfeeding.

Boobs are magical, in case you hadn't noticed. They regulate the temperature of newborns and provide nutrient- and antibody-rich food for free. And they just kinda look cool.

Breastfeeding, however, is one of those things that seems like it should come totally naturally and be this blissful, easy experience. If its not, something's wrong with me.

Well, by golly, it's just hard. And nothing's wrong with me.

After a mere three days of feeding via magicboob, I was cracked and bleeding. And crying every mealtime. Which was approximately every 2-4 hours. Around the clock. Crusher seemed to only enjoy eating milk flavored with the salt of my tears or the tang of my blood.  There were moments when I was sure that the boob pain was worse than labor. So I called up the lactation consultant.

After sobbing in her office for a while, she told me there was hope and gave me a nipple shield. I had mixed feelings. I had heard horror stories about nipple confusion and throwing the small piece of clear, easily-lost plastic across the room.  It did clear up the bleeding problem, and things evened out for a while.  In a follow-up, they determined his latch is great and my technique is adequate.  Hooray!  I felt like I passed a really important mom-test.  In my rational brain, I knew that breastfeeding is just hard sometimes for a variety of reasons and I can't take complete responsibility when I am only one person in a two-person act (especially considering the other person is pre-verbal and definitely not rational).  In my emotional brain, I felt like I deserved a prize.

Until a few days ago.  I noticed some redness and pain.  Increasing pain.  Lots of pain.  When he ate it felt like knives attacking my nipples and shards of glass being sucked out from my shoulder blades forward.  Then burning, burning, burning all day long with no break.

Awesome, right? So I called the lactation consultant again. And she decided I have thrush (a yeast infection that causes the above symptoms).  I drove all over town trying to find the OTC treatment, crying in Walgreens when they didn't have the right kind, and crying the whole way home at the thought of delaying treatment and thus suffering from aforementioned excruciating pain.  A trillion phone calls, a probably inappropriate frantic text to my doctor, and loads of self-doubt later, and we finally found some meds which David kindly picked up.

If it works, I should feel better tomorrow.  We'll see. In the meantime, I'm still stuck with the feeling that it's my fault somehow.  That I fail because I struggle to feed my son, even though he 's eating, pooping, and gaining weight just as he should.  That my body is betraying me because this is hard for me.

I would never have these thoughts about someone else.  I know I'm a little addled from fatigue and pain, but c'mon!  I wouldn't blame someone else for getting chewed up by another person, or for getting an infection.  This isn't a race and it's not a test.  It's a path, and I just need to keep on the course.  At the end of the day, I win if my child is fed and loved.  Check.