Perhaps a too-adventurous undertaking to start with

As I told Paul when he got home this evening, I'm not sure what crack I was smoking to think the following would have gone well.

I am, generally speaking, not much of an arts and crafts kind of person.  I know how to knit and can do a little sewing and embroidery if called upon but general crafts have never been my thing.  I usually end up hurting myself if a glue gun is involved and I am often too much of a perfectionist for other little handicrafts so I normally shun most types of these things.  However, apparently sleep deprivation and hormones and motherhood have made me think I can be an artsy-craftsy person, doing little handy projects with Henry for various holidays and events.  Felt banners and May Day baskets.  Decorated cookies.  Fun stuff like that.

On this note, I saw that Pottery Barn Kids had available little kits for making handprint ornaments out of plaster.  Easy enough to do, I thought.  What a great present for grandparents, I thought.  This would be perfect for Henry's "First Christmas" ornament, I thought.  So I bought three kits determined to make sweet little handprint ornaments that we could all oooh and aaah over in years to come.

And then I actually attempted to make these sweet little ornaments.  I hadn't taken into account that Henry likes to grab things.  Things like gooey plaster.  Let's just say that things did not go as planned.  While one ornament actually was made, the salt shaker was broken in the process (flailing, very strong 9-month old + quartz countertops).    There was plaster all over the counter, all over Baby, all over me.  Baby was crying, I was cursing, the cat had fled the scene wary of flinging bits of goo.  Grandparents will not be getting their plaster handprint ornament.  I found another little non-plaster kit I might try if Henry and I both seem recovered from this particular incident.  It might make a great Baby's Second Christmas ornament.

Henry's Baptism

We've discovered one of the joys of having a child who has yet to be able to verbalize his clothing desires and choices (aside from some disagreements when getting dressed/undressed) is that we can put him in whatever we want, including little bitty tuxedo t-shirts.  One Sunday during the summer, Henry was dressed in such a shirt (classic black with the red carnation) while at church the discussion of his baptism came up.  Paul and his dad agreed that it would be really neat if Henry was baptized in a tuxedo shirt and the pastor said he'd never baptized a baby wearing a tuxedo t-shirt before (not the encouragement that was needed for Paul).

Fast forward a couple of months to Henry's baptism.  I'd found a couple of sweet little outfits I thought would be perfect for Henry to wear (one a cream sweater knit one-piece romper, another a sweet smocked overalls outfit).  Paul was still holding out for the tuxedo t-shirt but I thought it was a bit irreverent for the solemnity of the event.  Finally, I found an outfit that I could agree to and a tuxedo top that was little classier than the cheese-tastic black shirt.

On Sunday November 21, Henry was baptized during one of the morning church services.  We'd arranged the date back in September and I asked the pastor several times if there was anything we needed to do to prepare.  It just seemed like we should do *something* prior.  He reassured us several times that because we were regular church-goers, he wasn't too worried about us not knowing what we were agreeing to during the service.  I did have a pre-baptism dream a week prior--one of those wacky panicky dreams that often happen before a big event in which when we got to church, no one knew who we were or why we were there.  Dream Henry was properly baptized but only after much pleading by his dream parents (again, reassured by the pastor that they knew who we were and why we were there).

For several Sundays prior, our pastor (Craig) had been wooing Henry--standing near him, chatting with him.  On the 14th, I offered to let Craig hold Henry who generally will go to anyone.  Craig wears a short beard and Henry was absolutely fascinated with it.  I'm not sure who was having more fun--Craig, Henry, or the bystanders--as Henry was rubbing his forehead on Craig's beard and patting it.  It was amusing to watch and gave us hope the next week would go off without a screaming infant.  Thankfully I was correct.


Henry was fidgety during the readings but once Craig took him and Henry saw the beard, he was fine.  I didn't see it but apparently Henry gave quite the look to the associate pastor who was holding the bowl of water.  Craig took Henry down the aisle to show him off to everyone as the congregation sang Jesus Loves Me.  As I was taking Henry back at the end of the baptism, Craig told everyone how fidgety Henry had been and that he doubted Henry would make it through the sermon (he was right).

Paul and I were so touched by the baptism service.  In addition to the baptism service typically done, Craig added a nice little homily about the importance of celebrating baptism, how different faiths approach it (a nod to my Baptist upbringing I believe) and why the Methodist church does baptism as we do.  (Please don't ask me to repeat what he actually said though--while I was there and heard the entire thing and was trying to listen and take it all in, nerves meant the retention wasn't what it might have been).  As we were discussing it afterward with our parents, both Paul and I said it seemed that Craig did more than usual--maybe it was because it was our first time to be involved as more than congregant.

An Open Letter to my Son

Dear Henry,
Mama loves you.  Really, I do.  But we need a little alone time.  Your dad and I jokingly call it "Noam time" from a funny article in The Onion.  We think you'll like The Onion some day, if you have inherited any of your parents' quirky sense of humor.

Anywho, Noam time is a good thing especially about 3:00 a.m.  I'm still not sure why you needed to discuss so many things, and so loudly, at that time this morning.  Did it just come to you and you were afraid you would forget?  I understand.  I often have great thoughts that escape me.  But I promise, all of it could wait until the sun comes up.  We'll be here at, say, 6:00 a.m., just about 12 feet from your bedroom door in our own bedroom.  Just past the cat sleeping in the hall.  That's where Mama and Daddy can be found at that hour.  OK, Daddy is on a business trip right now so technically he's not there now but we really didn't need to discuss where your Dadadada was at 3:00 a.m.  I had told you previously, during daylight hours.  I'm sure your father explained he'd be gone a few days before he left.  Could we kindly rehash the conversation a little later in the day?

Yes, we have a kitty.  He's been hanging around this place much longer than you.  He will learn to tolerate you as he tolerates us.  I know you love him.  Daddy and I agree that of the sounds you're currently making, kitty is one of the clearest.  We love that you are so excited every time you see the kitty.  However, kitty needs a good 22 hours of sleep a day lest he be crankier than he already is. That's why he came into the room to voice his displeasure.  It wasn't so you could squeal with excitement.  It was because he's pretty cranky about 3:00 a.m. wake up calls, too.

And Henry, dear Henry, can I explain thread count to you?  We have these luxuriously soft sheets that were a splurge for us several years ago.  They have just gotten softer with time.  Coupled with a snuggly down comforter, it is a little fluffy utopia every night.  I'd really love to be able to spend at least 7 hours in there.  I know you can do it.  I know your bed isn't quite as luxurious--blame all those pesky AAP guidelines about blankets, etc.  But  I've known you to sleep 12 (or more!) hours without needing your mamamama at all.  I was in a little more need than you were after that time but that's a different conversation.  But sleep, let's get back to it, OK?

I'm glad that you were able to get a little more sleep after our conversation this morning.  But, see, 4:30 is awfully close to the time I have to get up for the day so the 30 minute nap was just a tease of what I missed in those two hours we were conversing.  Or, you were conversing and I was politely nodding (or nodding off, tomato/tomahto).  I partied with you in the wee hours of the night in those early days.  I've done the 3:30 wide awake on purpose thing.  You will too but not until you are grown and out of my house.  That's an order.

Love you bunches,
Mama

My kid, the genius

Paul and I marvel every day at the things Henry can do.  We're both amazed to think that 8 months ago, he was pretty much a sleepy lump about whom I'd tell Paul, "I think I forgot to talk to the baby."  Now, he is a bundle of energy and motion that definitely can't be ignored.  I love to watch his little mind work as he figures something out, be it studying out the carpet or really working on getting crawling (still not quite there yet).  I can't imagine how exhausted he must be at the end of every day as a result of all that thinking and doing.

However, there are times we have to wonder. 

We recently (finally) lowered the mattress in his crib this weekend.  He's only just started being able to sit up on his own and still doesn't have much interest in pulling up so the impetus wasn't there until I walked into his room after a nap and he was resting his foot on the rail.  The bumper set for his bedding is in four pieces but because of the design of his crib, the end bumpers can't be used with the lower mattress.  There isn't a way to tie the bumpers on securely.  No worries, I thought.  It isn't necessary.

And it isn't, except he's woken himself up the past three nights hitting his head on the end of the crib as he squirms around in the bed.  We both laugh when we hear the thunk, knowing exactly what he's done and knowing what is to follow.  Thankfully he quickly goes back to sleep after we move him down a bit and give a few snuggles.  I just wonder how long it will be until he figures it out.

March

So I started writing this when Henry was about six weeks old.  I had good intentions of writing about each month as it happened.  That just didn't happen.

A little delayed in writing this but there are so many things I want to remember about this time of our life with a wee Henry. So I'm going to try to go back and write about the past six weeks from memory as best as I can. It's crazy as I think back to the first couple of weeks--time seems to have had no real meaning and the days blur together.

When given the option to leave the hospital on Monday, just 48 hours after the c-section, Paul and I both jumped at the chance. We'd had a very rough night--not much sleep with a very fussy no-name Baby and even when we were trying to nap we were interrupted about seven times in 30 minutes by various nurses and other hospital workers--so if we weren't going to sleep at least we could be at the house not sleeping. Henry was able to discharge when his jaundice levels came back OK and the circumcision was completed. Around 5:00, our little family of three took off for home.

Paul was driving and we'd been warned that this was a scary drive with your brand-new little one. It was. I was laughing as Paul took off from the hospital. Of all the various ways he could go, Paul stuck with Central because he just didn't want to head out onto the interstate what with the fast drivers. So we told Henry all about scary Central as we headed home. Just a little time after we got home, I was exhausted and hormones were kicking in. My in-laws had stopped by with a casserole for dinner and I honestly couldn't come up with an answer for vegetables when asked by my mom. Paul had a crying Henry upstairs while I was downstairs crying while eating. I was exhausted and so swollen from the fluids given while in the hospital and so so completely overwhelmed by everything.

And the tears--I wish someone could have warned me and Paul about the hormones. I think we were told but you just never fully understand until you're in the middle of it. By Tuesday, they were in full swing and I felt like I was on the verge of crying (or crying) most of the time. Henry and I were working on getting into the swing of breastfeeding--it was going OK, I just didn't realize that it would be so constant the first few days--and I was feeling like I was never going to be able to leave the recliner ever again without a little being attached to me. Paul and my mom did conspire to get me out of the house while Henry was asleep for very short, very slow walks around our cul-de-sac with one of them when the weather was nice. Not exactly my favorite thing to do but I'm sure those slow strolls during the first couple of weeks went very far in helping my recovery.

Tuesday night. Oh Tuesday night when I had the complete meltdown. When we left the hospital, the nurse had sent us with some formula just to use as a supplement until my milk came in because Henry would get so frenetic with his crying. Paul and I agreed that we'd use it at some point during the night so I could get a little more sleep and wouldn't have to worry about having Henry on me all night. So about 2 a.m., Paul had Henry in the nursery. Henry had had a little formula so he was fed, his diaper was changed, and he was crying. And I was crying right along with him, telling Paul to just give me my baby. Paul was very calmly telling me that the baby was crying because that is what babies do and that Henry was OK. Then, sweet man, brought Henry back into our room and laid down on the bed with me so that I could sleep with the baby nearby. Paul slept with the baby on him the rest of the night. I was woken up a few hours later by Paul telling me that Henry had just peed on him.

Henry did manage to pee on all of us the first week. He got Paul that morning, me another night while I was nursing, and all over my mom and the duvet during a diaper change. That last one was the most dramatic and entertaining. Mom started calling me from upstairs to come quickly so I hobbled as quickly as I could to see what was wrong. Henry had managed to pee just as she was putting the gauze with Vaseline on during a diaper change so it was all over the place. When we went for Henry's newborn check-up on Thursday, the doctor asked if we had been peed on yet--when we replied yes, he laughed that he could mark that Henry's bladder was working well.

After Tuesday night's meltdown, my mom and Paul once again conspired together to get me more sleep by taking over nighttime duties. They'd set up the air mattress in the nursery so Mom moved up there for sleeping and she and Paul would take turns bringing me the baby during night. Wednesday morning, Mom held a sleeping Henry for several hours and told me to sleep, shower, do whatever. Henry was fine. Hard for me to do but I did it. Nap, shower, and sent out emails to let everyone know Henry had arrived. Mom and Paul also took it upon themselves to watch the Happiest Baby on the Block DVD several times so they could fully learn the five S's and apply them to Henry as needed. Any time Henry would get a little fussy, either or both of them would come running in saying, "I know what to do!" ready to swaddle, shush, and sway the baby back to sleep.

One night early in the week, Paul was working to swaddle Henry but the blanket was a little too small for the task. He told my mom that it might be best for Grammar to look away because he was going to do was a little unconventional. At that point, he rolled Henry in the blanket, more pig-in-a-blanket than swaddle. He said it worked to keep Henry's arms down so who's to argue with his methodology.

Of course Paul had been warned to watch for postpartum depression so any tears would have him asking me if I was OK, if I felt sad, etc. I never felt any depression--just tired and getting my ass kicked by the hormones--but I did feel an overwhelming sense of possessiveness when it came to Henry. I would almost be OK with Paul holding Henry but anyone else was a little too much for me. There were a couple of times when my mom would have him and I'd take the sleeping, perfectly fine baby from her. When my in-laws came to visit, my mother-in-law was holding a perfectly fine sleeping baby and I was sitting in the chair with tears streaming down my face. I remember so desperately wanting to take Henry from her but knowing I shouldn't but so wanting to. As I told Paul at some point later, I didn't have to share him for nine months and then suddenly, everyone wants him but he should still be mine.

Paul and I made it to Henry's newborn appointment on Thursday with little ado. While we were waiting, both of us were panicked that Henry was going to wake up crying again before we saw the doctor. Thankfully, he stayed asleep until we were in the waiting room and had to undress him to be weighed. Paul was able to calm him by swaddling him and the doctor was thoroughly impressed with our little guy who'd gained a few ounces from his discharge on Monday and was pronounced a healthy handsome little boy. And Henry was even content enough that we could stop for milkshakes on the way home.

Breastfeeding was going well and my milk fully came in by Wednesday. That helped calm Henry down for the two hour stretches promised by all those parenting books aside from a few cluster feedings during the evenings. He was filling up all kinds of diapers so after the first day, we stopped tracking that. At some point in time, my mom went to the grocery store and procured Blue Bell Ice Cream which was happily consumed by all of us. The days are a blur as to when things happened because aside from the newborn appointment on Thursday, time really had no meaning. We were in our own little bubble without television or computers. It wasn't a bad way to be, just very surreal when I think back on it now.

We also made it to Target that first week and I was so happy to be out of the house that I completely overdid it and was completely exhausted (and again, crying) by the time we got home an hour later.  My mom left on the Monday of the second week.  Looking back, I wished I'd had the wherewithal to ask her to stay or had her tell my lovely mother-in-law to be much bossier and just tell Paul and I what to do.  Paul and I needed that extra person but we didn't realize it and I didn't feel comfortable asking my mother-in-law, who would have done anything for us and Henry, for the additional help around the house.They did bring us copious amounts of food which was a huge relief to my tired brain.  Between the in-laws and our friends, we were very well-fed the first month of Henry's life

On Wednesday evening of that second week, Paul's dad held Henry for the first time.  He'd demurred any other time we'd offer.  On that evening, my inlaws had come over with dinner and Roger kept telling us that he was leaving for choir practice.  After we ate, we put a sleeping Henry in his lap.  And he sat there for the next  2 1/2 hours.  Paul went upstairs to do a little work while I stayed downstairs and visited.  At around 9:00, I told Paul that his parents were still here and I was exhausted and could he please go entertain them?  Or reclaim Henry or something because I really needed to sleep.  (Now anytime he sees us, he'll always ask, "Do you think he'll let me hold him?")

The third week of March was Spring Break so several school friends stopped by to visit and my friend Devlyn spent much of Monday at the house with me and Hankster.  My sister Amy and her family came later in the week to meet the newest addition.  Henry started sleeping longer stretches of time and I was getting more confidence, with the occasional hiccup of Mommy guilt because Henry would start crying because I put him down to use the bathroom (that no longer happens--the guilt that is).

The last week of March, I gained confidence in my ability to leave the house alone with Henry, be it just for a walk around the park or a trip to the grocery store (quick because I was still petrified that he'd start crying and I wouldn't be able to calm him or someone would judge my parenting and say something and I'd start crying).  I even made it to a friend's baby shower when Henry was a month old and the three of us all made it dressed, showered, and appropriately attired to have portraits taken of the month-old Henry (although there was crying on my part before we made it out the door for no real reason other than that is what I did, bless Paul's heart).  I'm sure there were other highlights to the month but thinking back, I just remember lots of napping and staring at this wonderful little creature, amazed that he was ours.

One of the reasons I've spent so long writing this darn post is that looking back at March and April, I still get pretty emotional when I think back on those two months.  Paul tends to turn inward when he's having issues and that is what happened after Henry was born as he settled into the new role of fatherhood.  Unfortunately, that left me pretty alone at a time when I really needed that emotional support.  One of the things that has been of real interest to me since Henry was born was recent studies I've seen of postpartum depression in men.  (Most recently in Slate magazine earlier this week as well as in June).  I don't know if it was necessarily PPD that Paul had but both of us were definitely struggling the first two months and very much at loose ends.  I do know that if we had a chance to do it again (or if we do have another child), I'd definitely speak up and ask for help from any of the multitude of people that offered.  But as it is, we came through it and we're fine now.  Paul is an amazing dad--everyone who knows Paul is utterly amazed at how well he's taken to it and how absolutely enamoured he is of his little boy--and I know he's got my back at any time and for any pretty much thing.

Maybe every other day is what I'm aiming for

Since I'd all but abandoned this spot for six months, perhaps it is too ambitious to think I'd post daily.  I do have about two hours every day where I'm pretty much tethered to one spot so it should be easy to hop over here.  Yesterday, however, I was positively dead on my feet and couldn't string together two sentences much less an entire blog post.  We survived Henry's little fever and all that involved but he's not back to his normal sleep schedule and man alive, is that kicking my butt.  Even on Tuesday night when I got a good 7 hours uninterrupted sleep, I was absolutely exhausted on Wednesday.  Today wasn't much better.

I think Henry is a pretty decent sleeper.  When he's on his game, he'll sleep about 10 hours (7p-5a) before waking to nurse and sleeping another 2 or so hours.  He's not great at napping at daycare--all the other babies distract him so if we get a couple of catnaps out of him, we're thrilled--but he's better about napping on weekends.  Looking back, Henry started sleeping 6 hour stretches when he was about 6 weeks old.  I was thrilled as only a sleep-deprived parent who just got 6 hours of sleep can be.  Sadly the poor bun was terribly congested because of all the allergens in the air last spring so while he was sleeping, we had to have him sleeping on an angle in the glider or swing.  After that one night, I was positively paranoid (and sleep deprived and still a bit hormonal) that something might happen.  After his normal 11p feeding, I sat in the floor beside the glider for pretty much the entire night just listening to him breathe, which at the time sounded pretty much what I'm sure a herd of sleeping goats sounds like all grunty and wheezy and noisy and easily heard from the bed or across the hall.  I was crying because I was so tired and hormonal yet I couldn't make myself go to bed for fear of what might happen to Henry if I did.  Thankfully he cleared up after just a couple of days and Paul realized what I'd done the next morning and stepped in so it wouldn't happen again.  And the next night, Mama and the herd of goats got another six hour night of sleep.

See, this is the kind of stuff people don't talk about when they have babies--the crazy behavior that you do that you know is crazy and yet can't stop.  Maybe this is stuff I shouldn't write down as a memory because while we're fairly certain Henry is our Enough, if I think I want a second, reading that would seriously make me reconsider.

So I'll start on Day 2

I decided to try the NaBloPoMo again, thinking it would be a good way to finally get the 8 months of Henry/parenting stories I want to write down actually written and a way to get back in the habit of writing.

Then the rash happened.  I'd noticed a few little spots on Henry's face on Sunday, and decided it wasn't anything to worry about as it was probably just related to the bug he had on Thursday/Friday.  Yesterday about 11:30, I received a call from Paul that the spots looked worse and seemed to have spread.  Paul hadn't taken Henry in before morning nap when the rash was rather innocuous but after nap, it was definitely there.  Noticeable enough that we knew the daycare wouldn't take our rashy, but fever-free, child.

Paul brought Henry up to school, where any coworker who passed promptly cooed over my rashy, but still pretty cute, baby.  We got the opinion of the school nurses that while it probably wasn't anything, we should take him to the doctor just to be sure.  To "thank" them, Henry smiled and waved.  Waving bye-bye is one of his newest tricks but it is still a bit hit-or-miss right now.  So I took the last two hours of the day off and hung out with the rashy kid until his appointment

The pediatrician office that we use has extended hours so the appointment wasn't until 6:30p which is also known as "bedtime" around these parts.  I loaded a tired Henry up in his footie pajamas and away we went.  One thing I really like about the doctors' office is that they are pretty quick to see patients.  We were back in the room by 6:40 and on the way home a little before 7.  The PA who saw Henry said that he had a pretty textbook viral rash that was a result of the earlier fever and that it wasn't anything to be too concerned about.  We got our note clearing Henry to return to school--the young lady at the front who wrote it for us was a former student of mine--and Henry was asleep in his bed by 7:30.

In the middle of entertaining a tired Henry before we left for the doctor, he was holding on to one of my fingers as I was playing with him.  Lo and behold, when he stuck my finger in his mouth if there wasn't a tooth in there!  Just barely broken through but finally!  He's been working on that darn tooth for a couple of months now.  I don't think the teething process is going to be easy with this one but at least we've finally got something to show for our troubles.

But it gave me a chance to use the word neophyte

So we moved Little Baby Henry into his new convertible carseat this week.  We probably could have done it sooner (although he's not over the weight limit for the seat and had a smidge left on the height) but the pull of the convenience of the bucket carrier for car-to-house naps was a little too strong.

I keep telling Paul that Henry looks so little in his big seat!

Yesterday afternoon, the hum of the open road (or ABQ city streets as we ran a couple of errands) and the comfy new seat were too much to resist and the backseat went quiet.  We were about 10 minutes from the house and as Henry is not easily transferable for naps, I wanted to give him just a little more sleepy time.  To the car wash we went since my car desperately needed it.

There was another car in the automatic wash bay and it was showing that she was on the final rinse cycle so I opted to wait.  The blowers came on and the driver eased forward just a bit but not enough that her back tires were off the little thing you drive up on to position the car in the bay.  The dryer did its thing and she still sat there.  Because she'd not moved during the dryer cycle, I'm assuming the mechanisms thought the next car had entered the bay.  As the driver started forward, the "Reverse" light started flashing.  So she did.  And sat there.  For what seemed like forever but was probably just a minute or two.  The "Go" light in the bay wasn't illuminated but it was for me outside the bay.  And so, she sat.  She tried going forward again and again, the "Reverse" light illuminated.  So she did.  And sat there.

At this point, I'm trying to figure out what to do to help this poor clueless car wash neophyte.  A car had pulled in behind me but left when the other driver reversed the first time.  I think she saw the writing on the wall.  I'd already paid for my wash so I wasn't leaving.  I had a sleeping Henry in the backseat so I didn't really want to leave to find the attendant to help the driver.  I debated getting out and running up to her car to explain what was going on.  I honestly had enough time for all these thoughts to go through my head several times because we were still sitting there for a good minute before I did the only thing I could decide to do.

I honked.

And still we sat.  I debated honking a little more forcefully because my first honk had been the polite beep you do to get someone's attention at a light or the car wash bay as the case may be.  After a little bit of hesitation on her part, she successfully cleared the car wash bay, finally ignoring the light and allowing me to enter and get my own car cleaned.  (I can just imagine her telling whomever about her crazy experience at the car wash and how it had her trapped.)

Unfortunately, the extra minutes we had to wait to start the car wash ended up being Henry's undoing.  He's not a good napper--he will catnap throughout the day, generally taking 3 or 4 thirty minute naps.  We think we're doing great if he sleeps 45 minutes and are over the moon at hour-long naps.  (Don't even get me started on the joy of a recent 2-hour nap.)  This was one of his catnaps and as it was already 20 minutes into the nap by the time we got to the car wash so during one of the final cycles, Henry woke up.  And the spraying and the bubbles and the noise scared the bejeebus out of him.  I was trapped in the car with sweet Henry securely strapped into his new car seat and having a screaming fit.  One of my finer parenting moments of the past 7 months.  Thankfully, I know to pull forward when the dryer starts and we got out of the scary car wash and headed home to finish out the afternoon with a 45 minute nap.  Apparently the trauma of the car wash was good for some extra nap time.

Confusing little clothing

On Wednesday evening, Paul and I were discussing the plans for the next day.  Paul was dropping Henry off earlier than usual because of a meeting and as we were talking through the logistics, I mentioned that as it is getting colder, I'd included some socks with Henry's little outfit for the next day.  Paul asked if there was anything special, or confusing, about these socks.  Um, no.  Just a pair of socks.  And then I remembered why he was asking.

One of the first times Paul had Henry solo was in early April.  Henry was about five weeks old at the time and I had a dental appointment.  I knew I'd be gone only about an hour total and while I was willing to take the baby along that morning (and the dentist and dental assistants were all disappointed I didn't bring him), Paul said he would stay home for a bit extra so I could go alone.

Just as I was sitting down in the dental chair, I had a phone call from Paul.  Henry was pretty congested around this time and was spitting up what seemed like bucketfuls.  He had spit up all over whatever little outfit I'd left him wearing, including his socks, and Paul was wondering where more clothes might be.  We had a quick discussion of possible wardrobe changes and things were good.  So I thought.

When I got home, I met an obviously frustrated Paul.  He was trying to bottle feed a baby who didn't really like bottles at the time.  Said baby was wearing a sleep sack because Henry was fussing about the onesie coming off and that was the easiest thing Paul found to dress him in.  I sympathized.  And then I laughed because I saw the socks.  Most of the little 0-3 month socks we had were the kind that the tops fold over and many of the socks had little puppy dogs or paw print decorations on the outside of the folded over part.  Paul didn't understand this (and understandably, as most boy socks don't do this) so he had turned the socks inside out and put them on Henry.  He'd not pulled the socks all the way up because he knew the little decorations were supposed to only be at the ankle.  Then the socks were too long so the foot part of the sock was just flapping around, not actually on Henry's foot.  Apparently it was a rough hour for Daddy.  But it made for a great story that we could laugh about not that much later.  (And Paul, and Henry, are both better with clothes and bottles these days).

so Blogger went crazy

Thanks to my friend Ruta (hi, Ruta!), I was made aware that apparently Blogger thinks I have news. I have no news of any sort to announce so if you read the post "Week 23" and were thinking to yourself that, man, those babies would be close, take heart in knowing that there isn't a Baby #2 in the works. Not now perhaps not ever. I was reading old posts recently and I guess I hit something I shouldn't have. But um yeah. I am not 23 weeks pregnant. Holy cow, if I was, Henry and #2 would be less than 11 months apart. That would be impressive.

Week 23

Last week when I had my OB appointment, I asked about receiving the H1N1 shot. I had been debating as to whether or not I would even get the shot--this was the first year I've ever gotten the seasonal flu shot and I didn't even want to do that much (Paul has gotten one in years past). Because of the shortage, I hadn't done much to even try to locate a place to receive the vaccine. The doctor gave me the number of one of the county public health department locations where he knew vaccines would be delivered soon and I was able to get on a waiting list for the vaccine.

I had a phone call earlier this week to set up an appointment for myself. I threw Paul in just for good measure. He's more susceptible to getting whatever comes down the pike than I have ever been and even when we both get sick, he (honestly) gets it much worse than I do.

Our appointment was yesterday afternoon. Yesterday's appointments were primarily the OB patients so it was a parade of the pregnant and our families. The wait was minimal and we were rewarded with suckers for our troubles. I'm a little bummed that I didn't buy the "Got Condoms?" shirt that was on sale. Oh the irony of wearing that as a maternity top.

I'm glad such locations exist but it is definitely a different world than the one we normally inhabit. Paul was convinced everyone was looking at us. I don't think so but he says they were--because he was watching them watching us (and how boring that must have been because we aren't that interesting). I was slightly irritated at the lady giving us the shot when she looked at our paperwork and saw that we have private insurance. She made a comment about using them instead or some such thing. Yeah, we do have private insurance and a primary care physician and a list of specialists we've conveniently seen. But gosh darn it, I'm five months pregnant. Why can't I use the county's public health department if that is the first location with the vaccine available? It's a free service provided to the citizens of Bernalillo County of which I am one.

Henry's (finally finished) room

For most of my pregnancy, I said we would deal with the baby's room starting in January.  Get through the little remodel project (where I last left off this place) and the holidays and then conquer that chaos.  What is now Henry's room spent the first five years as Paul's office until we remodeled and then it became a guest room/catch-all/overflow from Paul's office.  I didn't realize how much treasures Paul had stored in the closet.

It was quite an undertaking and the room wasn't quite cleaned out before Henry made his appearance. My mom came for a visit in late January to be at my baby shower and to do some little projects in the baby's room.  We installed a custom closet system and she thankfully volunteered to paint the nursery.  I loved the color of what had been the guest room.  It was an aqua blue but we repainted to a yellowy color after the remodel so it would better flow with the living room since it now opens up to that room.  I didn't select the same aqua color for Henry's room but a couple of shades lighter (and love it just the same).  Henry dropped when I was about 38 weeks pregnant and was sitting on my left hip, making walking pretty painful.    I'd gotten most of the furniture put together (it's almost all IKEA) but was having issues with the crib's bottom slats.  Paul's parents came over the weekend before Henry was born and helped finish the crib as well some other odds and ends projects around the house.  I spent the last two weeks before Henry was born doing a few little things that could be accomplished while crawling or walking as little as possible (making up the crib, folding/putting away clothes, etc).   Paul scoffed and told me to stop but was grateful when, during the first week after Henry was born, he commented to my mom that he really needed a burp cloth, pulled out a little basket and voila!  Burp clothes! Of course, I should have been packing a suitcase but that's a story for another time. . . .

When Henry started rolling a couple of months ago, Paul realized he had to get the rest of his stuff out of the room since there were cords and wires and other interesting things for babies.  That got me inspired to finally complete Henry's room. 

Looking in from the bedroom door.  The window faces east so Henry has a great view of the mountains.

Happy boy in his jumparoo.  I love the ABC print and the mirrors.  When Henry's outgrown the jumparoo, I hope to make this a little play area with a table and chairs.

Buckets with toys and books under the window--I'd intended to use brown as an accent color but found these at Target.  They were what I was wanting just in a different color.  And the more I look at them, the more I like the green accents in here.  And we don't call them polka dots but lizard spots (thanks, Paul).

I didn't know if I wanted a glider originally.  Henry slept in the bassinette in our room for the first two months and when we moved him into his bedroom, we put the small recliner from our bedroom in here as well.  Turns out,  Henry likes to rock/glide so we purchased this a couple of months ago.

Gratuitous picture of Jubjub

The crib and the prints from Henry's 1-month photo shoot.  I finally settled on the quote over his crib when I saw it was from Shakespeare's Henry VIII.   Putting it up was another project I saved for my mom to help with.

I made the pillow covers.  Sewing is a skill I don't let many people know I can do (it's not a favorite thing but I do enjoy it from time to time).  I also tailored the valance, joining two panels into one.  A friend made the stick horse that I purchased last December at a holiday fair because I knew it would coordinate with the bedding (and it is really cute and its name is Charger).

Henry's already well-stocked bookcase. :)  The giraffe print was one I purchased years ago and was one I knew I wanted to hang in the nursery.  We used the animals/polka dots bedding because of this print.

The changing station and dresser.  Burp clothes are in the basket on the left. :)

Vignette shot because I was getting arty while taking these pictures.

Another arty shot.  The picture of Henry and Paul was taken in the hospital when Henry was about 24 hours old.  Melts my heart every time I look at it.

We think he likes his room as well.

So six months after he made his appearance, that is Henry's finally finished room that will, of course, never actually be finished as it will grow and change with him.  It isn't quite what I'd first envisioned when I started thinking of how I wanted the nursery--I was considering a mural or polka dots on the wall and different artwork.  None of that happened and that's OK.  While it's not as fancy as originally planned, both Paul and I have found ourselves sitting in there just enjoying what a happy little room it is.

My first encounter with the crazy

I guess I should consider myself lucky in that in the just-over seven months of Henry's life, I've not really gotten unsolicited advice from well-meaning strangers.  I had some when I was pregnant but even then, not much.  Perhaps I put off a vibe.  This morning, I wish that vibe had been a little stronger because this morning, crazy lady in the grocery store decided she knew exactly how I needed to be raising my son. 

I knew this week's grocery trip was going to be a quick one so I took Henry with me when I went about 8:30.  If it's a going to be a more-involved trip, Henry stays home with his dad.  It was mostly empty in the store and we were able to complete our list quickly.  The checker was one whose line I'll frequently seek out--she's friendly but professional, just chatty enough, and she loves babies.  She and the bagger both gooed at Henry who obliged by smiling and gooing back at them.  As I was walking out, crazy lady came rushing over to tell me how cute Henry is and commented that he looks Irish.  I thanked her and said something about Irish being in there.  She then said something about how he looks like me and I look Irish.  I mumbled something again about there being Irish in there somewhere and Henry looking like his dad, thanked her for complementing Henry, smiled and tried to walk by her. 

Not happening.  She started in on how people have all kinds of crazy ideas about babies these days.  For some reason, and I'm still not sure how, the topic of feeding came up.  I laughed that we'd postponed solids mostly out of fear of the diapers and she apparently didn't get the joke just reiterated how people have crazy ideas about babies and she had food at 6 weeks and was fine.  Do we at least feed him cereal?  Does he like his cereal?  I answered yes, he loves oatmeal.  She said, "But what about cereal?"  Um, oatmeal *is* cereal.  I then had to hear how "they" would put it in bottles and cut off the nipple and give to children and I should try that.  Uh, he doesn't really do bottles.  Oh, you were able to breast feed (thank goodness that conversation ended there--would hated to have delved further into that topic with the crazy).  Does he eat?  Yes, he loves most whatever we shove at him.  What was his reaction to ice cream?  We've only been giving him food for a month; he's not had ice cream.  People and their crazy ideas about babies!  It's the doctors you know. They don't want to deal with sick babies. 

Mind you, this whole time, I'm trying to walk out the door.  Freedom was a mere 10 feet away and I couldn't make it.  OH!  And then she said, "No, no dear" and patted his hand as Henry was trying to eat the end of the strap on his little grocery cart seat cover.  I swatted at her hand and said to Henry it was OK.  Seriously.

By now, I'd at last made it to the door of the store and she's following me and prattling on about something while I'm mindlessly uh-huhing and grateful I chose a close parking spot.  She asked his name and responded that it was such a good American name!  And the rest of it?  Mac.  Didn't get any response to that because by now I was standing by my car (she was actually between me and the Subie).  She said something else but by now, my brain and all politeness had shut off.  She thankfully figured out that this was my car without me saying anything and wandered off into the parking lot.

I'm truly grateful Henry was in his usual cheerful mood.  I can only imagine what kind of advice I would have gotten had he been fussy.

Yesterday's phone call

Yesterday evening, I had a phone call from my sister Amy who requested that I talk to Abigail, not as an aunt but as a librarian.  After calming down a squalling Henry who had managed to get stuck under his swing, I heard an obviously upset little girl on the other end of the phone say, "Aunt Carrie, I can't find my library book." 

Poor girl was so upset that she lost her book.  Amy suggested they call me to let her know that it happens and it was OK.  Which is exactly what I told her.  She was surprised to learn that students 10 years older than her still lose library books as well.  I gave her the same list of places to look that I tell my students (bedroom, classroom, bookshelves, backpack--"It's not in my backpack!") and suggested she go tell her school librarian the next day because you never know.  Someone might have found the book and turned in if she left it in her classroom or the cafeteria.  After a little more reassuring that the librarian wouldn't be mad but Abigail might have to replace or pay for the book if it is lost, she seemed to feel a little better about the situation.

Enough to let me know that she did have good news--another lost tooth!  That is definitely not a bad thing to lose.

So Blogger went and changed on me...

What?  I take a 6-month hiatus from writing and now I can't figure the site out.  I have a blog post all written in my head complete with pictures and witty commentary.  Trying to figure out how to add the pictures.  Bear with me.  It may take a bit to get back in the swing of things.

What it takes to get me back to this place--

I've been meaning to come back over here and write. I need to come back over here and write. There just always seems to be something else that comes up, like a diaper needing changed or an infant needing to be fed or a bed calling my name. Things are settling back down though and I need to come back and write about the last six months before I completely forget what it was like to be mama to a tiny little baby.

As it is, my baby isn't too tiny any longer. Everyone who sees him comments on how big he is for his age or they ask if his father is tall. At almost 7 months, he weighs about 18 lbs. and is 28" long. Henry is rolling and gooing and chatting and smiling and laughing and *almost* sitting independently. Every day, even those rare bad days, Paul and I realize how fortunate we are to have such a happy, content little fellow.

We are now about seven weeks into the school year and everyone seems to have settle into a routine. Paul handles the mornings and drop-off while I take over in the afternoons after school is finished. Henry is enjoying daycare--he *LOVES* the infant room teacher Demi with a love that knows no rival--and things are going pretty well for our little family.

And now those two little stories that I just can't forget and why I'm back writing over here--

Every Sunday evening, I lay out a week's worth of outfits for Henry. Paul asked if I would so it is one less worry for him during the morning and I do enjoy making the little outfits for Henry. I make a stack with a onesie and shorts/pants, paired together for each day. Because he is so long, Henry doesn't have many one-piece rompers but he does own a couple of them. Two weeks ago, I'd put one in the stack for Henry to wear--a little plaid one-piece shorts outfit. When I picked Henry up from daycare that day, Demi told me that his shorts were in his cubby. I was quite confused as to why Henry would have shorts when he was already wearing shorts and said something to that effect. I told Demi that I wasn't questioning her but I was wondering why Paul had put Henry in another pair of shorts. Curious.

When questioned later, Paul said he thought the romper wasn't really shorts since it was so baggy and while he thought I'd messed up by not putting out shorts, he was rather proud that he'd fixed the problem without asking me. He then offered/threatened to put Henry in three pairs of shorts to take to daycare the next day (he didn't but told Demi that he might some day just because he could).

Last Saturday morning, we'd gone to the swimming pool early and came home before Henry's morning nap. We bathed Henry and I put him down for a nap in only his diaper, knowing that he's figured out how to get at least one tab of the diaper open but not thinking he'd do much beyond that (if that much). He isn't a great napper but we keep trying and even though we could hear him "talking" in his crib after about 30 minutes, we left him for a little down time for over an hour, until Henry let us know he was done with his alone time. After Paul picked Henry up, he called to me to come up to Henry's room when I got a chance, no hurry. Upon entering the room, I was told to check out Henry's crib where there was a big wet spot right in the middle of the bed. Apparently Henry had managed to not only undo his diaper, he'd wiggled out of it and was waving it around when Paul went in to get him. Smart little monkey. And now we no longer leave Henry in just his little diaper. Lesson quickly learned.

More things to remember

Henry's birth day was crazy just because, as Paul put it, we managed to experience three types of birth processes (natural labor, epidural, c-section) to get the boy. In the whole of the day, I think we managed to keep our wits and our humor about us.

One of the oddest things that happened was as they were counting the equipment/medical stuff that had been used during the c-section. Paul had already gone to the recovery room with Henry and I was in the OR with the doula, Lucy, when we heard the doctor say, "Was it two or three?" Seems there was a miscommunication about how many of one type of equipment had been used during the procedure. There was a call for X-ray to come and while the anesthesiologist was reassuring me that the chances of anything being left was pretty much nil, it's a little disconcerting to hear the doctor say she's not going to close me up until there is a definite count. Thankfully, nothing was left on the inside that wasn't supposed to be there.

I was wheeled back to the OR just as the big UNM/BYU basketball game was tipping off. The entire time we were in the room, the anesthesiologist was giving score updates. Paul was getting updates via his iPhone and visits with the family while we were in the recovery room. We kept Saturday's newspaper and that game is the front story.

After it was determined that Henry was going to the NICU for a bit because of the difficulty he was having breathing, Paul was taken to the maternity ward

The Best Laid Plans

So, Paul and I had planned to spend the last weekend of February as our last one of just the two of us. I'd called my mom to see if she'd come on Monday to give us that time (no problem there), my maternity leave was officially starting at 2:30 on Friday, we'd made some simple plans for the weekend (dinner, last minute cleaning/organizing the house), and I'd planned to come over to this little place and catch the world up on our doings for the past 2 1/2 months.

And then this happened:
This picture was taken probably around 5:00 a.m. on Saturday 2/27. We'd gotten to the hospital about an hour earlier after I'd labored at home for about three hours. Paul thought I was going to tell him to come to bed when I walked into his nook at 1:00 a.m. He definitely wasn't expecting me to tell him that I was most definitely having contractions.

Oh, one of the plans for the weekend? Pack the bag for the hospital. So, there I am trying to breathe through contractions and tell Paul when they start and stop all the while trying to throw things into the suitcase. Because we were newbies to all of this, Paul and I decided to call the doula as well as the OB on call just to get their opinions on when we should come in. They didn't really have any although I'm sure they got a kick out of Paul explaining that I was lying over the suitcase, trying to breathe through a contraction. I also managed to run a bath because laboring in a warm tub sounded like a great idea. We managed to fill the tub and I got my clothes off but couldn't physically make myself get into the water. I did, however, manage to call my mom to let her know that she might want to start heading this way from Amarillo since apparently, I was having a baby. Paul then had the extra task of convincing me to get dressed again and walk down the stairs all the while I'm additionally trying to straighten up the bathroom because, oh yeah, Merry Maids is coming on Monday and if this kid is really coming today, I'm not going to be able to finish straightening up the house.

He eventually talked me downstairs (it's about 3:00 at this point) and I needed to get some items out of the dryer for the hospital. I'd bought a new robe to take with me as well as another outfit for the baby to possibly wear home. There I am, sitting in the floor of the living room, shaking uncontrollably (now realize that it was probably a transition point in labor), when Paul says that was it, we're heading to the hospital.

We manage to make it to the hospital with little ado, arriving around 4:00 to the maternity triage where we find out that, yep, I'm definitely in labor. In fact, I'm 6 centimeters dilated at this point. Woohoo! Our doula arrives, we head to the L&D room, and things are going great. Paul was a rockstar when it came to talking me through contractions and even in between, we were able to joke and talk. Paul and I were relaxed as we could be and really taking things in stride. Everyone kept commenting on how great we were doing, they couldn't believe we were so focused yet relaxed, etc., etc. At one point, I asked Paul for a piece of gum because my mouth was dry and he got a piece for himself as well. He managed to bite his cheek and commented that it really hurt. You know, not like what I was going through but it really hurt. After that, the nurse would ask him how his cheek was periodically as well. They also loved that he had our birthing prep book and was reading about what to expect during each phase of labor.

Around 7:30, Paul's parents and my mom arrived at the hospital, just as my water was breaking and I was entering the transition stage (Paul informed everyone that I might get irritable at this point). They set up the birthing equipment, the doctor came by to check on things, still doing great, I'm telling everyone that I'm really doing this just because I really want that #1 burrito from Golden Pride, we're taking bets on what time the baby would be born. And then at 8:30, I'm 9 cm dilated and labor stalls. We try different positions--standing, moving, sitting on the toilet, nipple stimulation--and nothing happens to make it progress. Around 11, the L&D nurse mentions Pitocin which nearly makes me cry. At 11:30, the doctor does an ultrasound and determines that the baby is OP--his body is in position but he has his head turned and won't/can't engage into the birth canal. She tries to move him and I stopped that quickly. We discuss options and agree that an epidural and trying to turn him is the way to go at this point.

After the epidural kicks in (and might I add, it wasn't just taking the edge off her trying to turn the baby), the doctor gets to business. Except that this little guy is as stubborn as both his parents. The OB could turn his head and he would turn it back. After several failed attempts, we again discuss options. Start Pitocin hoping that will move labor along so I can at least push. If I start pushing, it could take 4-5 hours and might still result in a c-section. Or go to a C-section. Crazy but the ONLY L&D dream I had was that my labor stalled and I had to get a c-section (oh, and that Paul and I politely declined the baby they tried to hand us because he had brown hair and brown eyes).

It wasn't much of a discussion but with our moms and the doula's input, Paul and I agreed that skipping to the c-section was the way to go. Not really what we'd planned or hoped for when things started that morning but I'd said all along that I really just wanted healthy baby and healthy mama as the end result. Because of another c-section that was being performed right then, we had about 1 1/2 hours to wait and keep trying to get the baby to move. He didn't and when the time came, I was whisked off and everything started happening very quickly.

I was glad we'd gotten the doula through the hospital at this point because she was able to come back with Paul and me into the delivery room. She also explained some of the procedures--that I would be alone during all the prep stuff and they would be able to enter once I was draped. I would have been really freaked out if I hadn't known that beforehand (as it was, I was only moderately freaked out).

And at 2:22 on February 27, we got this:
His name is Henry Mac and he has neither brown hair nor brown eyes. And we probably would have kept him even if he had.

The little bun had some problems with phlegm in his lungs and trouble breathing as a result so in the recovery room, he was kept under oxygen for a while. I finally got to meet him after an hour or so. That is one very happy mama there.
Paul in the recovery room with his "bunny suit" on. While he was in the operating room, he commented that he looked like a painter since he was wearing that and everyone else was in scrubs. The L&D nurse really didn't want us to leave since she was having such a good time with us. We're just happy when we've found an appreciative audience for our bad jokes.
Henry, who was still unnamed at this point and would remain so until Monday morning, with the oxygen. Everyone was commenting that they don't get many blonde babies through the ward. He is definitely a tow-head.
I keep telling everyone that I should get credit for more than that (the 7 lb. 15 oz from my first pregnancy dream, perhaps) since he pooped twice before they weighed him. Still a good-sized boy at 20 inches long.
With Daddy on Sunday morning. The first time Paul ever held an infant was when the nurse handed Henry to him to walk to the recovery room. Perhaps we should have practiced that beforehand.
And I finally got that #1 burrito, only 24 hours later. :)

Lots more to tell about this fun day but right now, I need to spend some more time staring at my son.