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.