(Warning: this post is not for the easily offended)
Today, Anja was playing on her tummy when she put her head down on the floor and started chewing on the carpet. I told her not to be a carpet muncher.
Then I realized what I had said.
So I told her that I was fine if she decided she was a lesbian and that her life partner and the baby they adopt from Korea will be lovingly accepted into our family.
Whew. Good save.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
The Diaper Song
(To the tune of "Time Warp" from Rocky Horror, because Mommy is a little freaky like that)
Let's change your diaper again
Let's change your diaper again
Because it's always filled with pee
And the occasionally poop
You put your hands in your mouth
And pull your knees in tight
And Mommy does her thing
And she will do it many many times today
Let's change your diaper again
Let's change your diaper again
She really laughs at that one.
Let's change your diaper again
Let's change your diaper again
Because it's always filled with pee
And the occasionally poop
You put your hands in your mouth
And pull your knees in tight
And Mommy does her thing
And she will do it many many times today
Let's change your diaper again
Let's change your diaper again
She really laughs at that one.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Songs For Anja
The Milk Song (to no particular tune whatsoever because I made that up too)
Mummy's milk is yummy in my tummy
I get to have it many times a day
My mummy makes it just because she loves me
The mummy's milk that's yummy in my tummy
Silly Baby (to the tune of Blondie's "Pretty Baby")
Silly baby
I fell in love with you
The moment I saw you
For the very first time
Goofy baby
You make me laugh and sing
My silly baby
Goofy baby
Silly baby
One very silly thing...the night we returned home from vacation, Anja was on the bed with the sperm donor and me. She has been grabbing at things (people, toys, my hair) for a little while and on that particular night she grabbed her own finger. The sperm donor was very amused, the whole "pull my finger" thing. What was especially amusing was the really concerned look on her face that whatever or whomever would not let go of her. That is what cracked me up. I know you shouldn't laugh at your child's expense, but she won't remember it.
She has since figured out that she can let go. Sigh...I was kind of hoping she would hold on forever.
The time is 1:20 a.m. She's back asleep and my boob is still hanging out. The sperm donor is going to say "Ack! You're an insomniac! It's the Zoloft!" No honey - true muses write when the inspiration hits!
Mummy's milk is yummy in my tummy
I get to have it many times a day
My mummy makes it just because she loves me
The mummy's milk that's yummy in my tummy
Silly Baby (to the tune of Blondie's "Pretty Baby")
Silly baby
I fell in love with you
The moment I saw you
For the very first time
Goofy baby
You make me laugh and sing
My silly baby
Goofy baby
Silly baby
One very silly thing...the night we returned home from vacation, Anja was on the bed with the sperm donor and me. She has been grabbing at things (people, toys, my hair) for a little while and on that particular night she grabbed her own finger. The sperm donor was very amused, the whole "pull my finger" thing. What was especially amusing was the really concerned look on her face that whatever or whomever would not let go of her. That is what cracked me up. I know you shouldn't laugh at your child's expense, but she won't remember it.
She has since figured out that she can let go. Sigh...I was kind of hoping she would hold on forever.
The time is 1:20 a.m. She's back asleep and my boob is still hanging out. The sperm donor is going to say "Ack! You're an insomniac! It's the Zoloft!" No honey - true muses write when the inspiration hits!
Monday, August 07, 2006
The Return
Coming home from vacation always seems like such a letdown. Sure, there are things I miss...like my cats and my own bed. During this vacation, I have missed a certain level of privacy because Anja, the sperm donor, and I have shared a room for the past three weeks and a bed for the past week when she refused to sleep in her Pack 'n' Play. So I'm happy to put Anja back in her own bed in her own room. But I haven't missed my isolationism (which I am now motivated to change). And I haven't missed the heat.
Now, the sperm donor is back at work and Anja is taking her mid-morning snooze. And I'm blogging.
Welcome home.
Now, the sperm donor is back at work and Anja is taking her mid-morning snooze. And I'm blogging.
Welcome home.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Point Me In The Direction Of...
Yes, I know...the Partridge Family sang "Point Me In The Direction of Albuquerque". But we are leaving sunny Albuquerque before the sun even rises tomorrow morning for the mountains of Colorado. Anja will be the fourth generation of my family to grace the steps of our small cabin. It is the most peaceful place I know...the mountain air which grows somewhat cold at night, the smell after an afternoon rain, the view of snow on nearby peaks...
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Vacation.
Anyway, I'll be without internet access for a couple of weeks, unless the nearby Starbucks has wireless access. We'll see. The sperm donor and I may just take time wandering the mountains, Anja in tow in her Baby Bjorn.
While I'm gone, you can check out some Foamy.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. Vacation.
Anyway, I'll be without internet access for a couple of weeks, unless the nearby Starbucks has wireless access. We'll see. The sperm donor and I may just take time wandering the mountains, Anja in tow in her Baby Bjorn.
While I'm gone, you can check out some Foamy.
Friday, July 21, 2006
A Nice Little Self-Esteem Boost
Your Power Level is: 67% |
 You're a very powerful person, and you know that all of your power comes from within. Keep on doing what you're doing, and you'll reach your goals. |
via zombieswan
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
PPD
Last week, I visited a psychiatrist to be evaluated for postpartum depression. I am normally a really private person so for me to be out in the open about this may come as a surprise to some. I figure I don't have a huge following on this blog: if I know you then it doesn't matter to me if you know about this, and if I don't know you then please realize that postpartum depression is a really common problem and I think it's OK to put my story about there.
First, a few facts about my mental state...
1. I'm lonely. I mean really lonely. I spend most of my day interacting with a 3-month-old. The loneliness started when I quit my job. If you suddenly quit a position in which you spent 8 hours a day talking to others, then you too would be amazed how lonely it is to be at home alone. The sperm donor was home the first couple of weeks after Anja's birth, but the loneliness really kicked in after he returned to work. The loneliness was especially bad the first month of Anja's life; she was just this little newborn whose life consisted of eating and sleeping. I feel a little better since she has started smiling; we are capable of interacting with each other in her own way. I know I don't have to feel like this. I could call all of the friends who said they were going to come over to the house after Anja was born, bring lunch, and hang out but never did, but, quite frankly, I have neither the interest nor the motivation to do so.
2. I'm exhausted. I used to work an emotionally draining 8-to-5 job; now I work 24-7, without weekends or holidays.
3. I worry. I worry constantly. I worried my whole pregnancy, starting with that damn triple screen which indicated my child was at elevated risk for having Down's Syndrome. I worry about Anja all the time. Initially, I worried about breastfeeding. Then I worried about her sleep. Then I managed to convince myself that she was having these abnormal movements; I even managed to score an urgent appointment at the pediatrician's office for that, and the doctor said she would evaluate Anja for reflux, I think just to ease my nervous mind. Anja doesn't have reflux; the last time she spit up was last weekend. Luckily I came to my senses and cancelled the x-ray. I worry at night, my little ear glued to the baby monitor no matter how low I turn down the volume. So I don't sleep a whole lot either.
4. Being a new mom is so overwhelming. I thought about hiring a doula after Anja was born and I decided against it; now I wish I had. We had no help after we all came home from the hospital and neither the sperm donor nor I had a whole lot of experience with babies. And despite all of the baby care classes we were completely naive to how to soothe her, how to keep her awake while she ate, how to swaddle her, etc. etc. I had never felt more incompetent and inadequate than I did when she was a newborn. There are very few people who tell me I am doing a good job, and I'm unable to tell myself. Things are much less overwhelming now: I know what fussy hungry looks like and how it is different from fussy tired. I know what is in that diaper before I even open up (and sometimes, I don't want to open it!). I know how to hold her attention. I've learned a lot in the past three months, but sometimes I still feel really overwhelmed.
It was after the wacky visit to the pediatrician's office that I called my therapist. That was the point I realized that I was having many more anxious moments with Anja than enjoyable ones. I have been seeing a therapist for a few years, but I had not seen her since Anja was born. I know now that I should have started seeing her again the minute after Anja was born. That night, I sobbed in her office for nearly two hours. She said that she knew I was the worrying type, but clearly things had gone overboard, and that something needed to be done. As luck would have it, her husband is a psychiatrist and she made arrangements for me to meet him. He was quite jolly and didn't wear any shoes. He explained the risks and benefits of getting treatment and explained how I could take medication and still breastfeed without affecting Anja very much. I walked out of his office with a prescription for a tiny dose of Zoloft. I have taken it for about a week and I'm not sure I have noticed any effects, especially now that we are on vacation and I have the sperm donor and lots of family around.
According to the Postpartum Resource Center of Texas, approximately 10 percent of women will experience postpartum depression at some point within a year after delivery. That is on reported cases, so please realize that this number is probably higher. Postpartum depression is NOT the baby blues. Generalized anxiety disorder occurs with the same incidence. I think it is unfortunate that the only public exposure that postpartum depression receives is from cases such as Andrea Yates. I was given a list of counseling resources at both my first prenatal visit and my postnatal visit, but no one ever told me what to look for. I work as a mental health professional, and yet, I was in complete denial about what was happening to me. Some may oppose my decision to pursue a pharmacologic solution in addition to my therapy, and that is fine. I feel the effects of my depression and anxiety on Anja's development could be far more devastating than a little bit of Zoloft.
As I said earlier, we are on vacation now. I am getting some extra sleep and it helps me relax more. Anja is enjoying meeting her relatives, studying their faces with great interest. The true test will be after we return home in a couple of weeks and the sperm donor returns to work. I am hopeful.
First, a few facts about my mental state...
1. I'm lonely. I mean really lonely. I spend most of my day interacting with a 3-month-old. The loneliness started when I quit my job. If you suddenly quit a position in which you spent 8 hours a day talking to others, then you too would be amazed how lonely it is to be at home alone. The sperm donor was home the first couple of weeks after Anja's birth, but the loneliness really kicked in after he returned to work. The loneliness was especially bad the first month of Anja's life; she was just this little newborn whose life consisted of eating and sleeping. I feel a little better since she has started smiling; we are capable of interacting with each other in her own way. I know I don't have to feel like this. I could call all of the friends who said they were going to come over to the house after Anja was born, bring lunch, and hang out but never did, but, quite frankly, I have neither the interest nor the motivation to do so.
2. I'm exhausted. I used to work an emotionally draining 8-to-5 job; now I work 24-7, without weekends or holidays.
3. I worry. I worry constantly. I worried my whole pregnancy, starting with that damn triple screen which indicated my child was at elevated risk for having Down's Syndrome. I worry about Anja all the time. Initially, I worried about breastfeeding. Then I worried about her sleep. Then I managed to convince myself that she was having these abnormal movements; I even managed to score an urgent appointment at the pediatrician's office for that, and the doctor said she would evaluate Anja for reflux, I think just to ease my nervous mind. Anja doesn't have reflux; the last time she spit up was last weekend. Luckily I came to my senses and cancelled the x-ray. I worry at night, my little ear glued to the baby monitor no matter how low I turn down the volume. So I don't sleep a whole lot either.
4. Being a new mom is so overwhelming. I thought about hiring a doula after Anja was born and I decided against it; now I wish I had. We had no help after we all came home from the hospital and neither the sperm donor nor I had a whole lot of experience with babies. And despite all of the baby care classes we were completely naive to how to soothe her, how to keep her awake while she ate, how to swaddle her, etc. etc. I had never felt more incompetent and inadequate than I did when she was a newborn. There are very few people who tell me I am doing a good job, and I'm unable to tell myself. Things are much less overwhelming now: I know what fussy hungry looks like and how it is different from fussy tired. I know what is in that diaper before I even open up (and sometimes, I don't want to open it!). I know how to hold her attention. I've learned a lot in the past three months, but sometimes I still feel really overwhelmed.
It was after the wacky visit to the pediatrician's office that I called my therapist. That was the point I realized that I was having many more anxious moments with Anja than enjoyable ones. I have been seeing a therapist for a few years, but I had not seen her since Anja was born. I know now that I should have started seeing her again the minute after Anja was born. That night, I sobbed in her office for nearly two hours. She said that she knew I was the worrying type, but clearly things had gone overboard, and that something needed to be done. As luck would have it, her husband is a psychiatrist and she made arrangements for me to meet him. He was quite jolly and didn't wear any shoes. He explained the risks and benefits of getting treatment and explained how I could take medication and still breastfeed without affecting Anja very much. I walked out of his office with a prescription for a tiny dose of Zoloft. I have taken it for about a week and I'm not sure I have noticed any effects, especially now that we are on vacation and I have the sperm donor and lots of family around.
According to the Postpartum Resource Center of Texas, approximately 10 percent of women will experience postpartum depression at some point within a year after delivery. That is on reported cases, so please realize that this number is probably higher. Postpartum depression is NOT the baby blues. Generalized anxiety disorder occurs with the same incidence. I think it is unfortunate that the only public exposure that postpartum depression receives is from cases such as Andrea Yates. I was given a list of counseling resources at both my first prenatal visit and my postnatal visit, but no one ever told me what to look for. I work as a mental health professional, and yet, I was in complete denial about what was happening to me. Some may oppose my decision to pursue a pharmacologic solution in addition to my therapy, and that is fine. I feel the effects of my depression and anxiety on Anja's development could be far more devastating than a little bit of Zoloft.
As I said earlier, we are on vacation now. I am getting some extra sleep and it helps me relax more. Anja is enjoying meeting her relatives, studying their faces with great interest. The true test will be after we return home in a couple of weeks and the sperm donor returns to work. I am hopeful.
Monday, July 17, 2006
I Can't Understand You With Your Hand In Your Mouth!
Anja has started talking. A lot. I'm not entirely sure what she is saying but it must be terribly important. And I said a few posts ago that I would not suppress the creation and expression of independent thought, so I just let her talk on. She tells everybody, and she now has a big audience because she is meeting all of her new relatives. She is a bit rude though, because I try to talk back to her and she interrupts me.
I just hope that before she embarks on her career in public speaking that she takes her hand out of her mouth.
The thumb appears to be reserved for nighttime, but the rest of the hand is fair game during the day. It could be just one finger, it could be an attempt to stick the whole hand in there. Sometimes she sticks too much hand in there and she gags a little, which really cracks me up. Sometimes she inverts her hand and sucks on her pinkie finger, a la Dr. Evil (I'm sure she is saying "I think I'll call her mommy."). But most of the time her hand is in her mouth, she is also talking. A lot. I took of picture of her talking, one hand in her mouth and the other holding her little foot.
I just hope that before she embarks on her career in public speaking that she takes her hand out of her mouth.
The thumb appears to be reserved for nighttime, but the rest of the hand is fair game during the day. It could be just one finger, it could be an attempt to stick the whole hand in there. Sometimes she sticks too much hand in there and she gags a little, which really cracks me up. Sometimes she inverts her hand and sucks on her pinkie finger, a la Dr. Evil (I'm sure she is saying "I think I'll call her mommy."). But most of the time her hand is in her mouth, she is also talking. A lot. I took of picture of her talking, one hand in her mouth and the other holding her little foot.
Adventures In Breastfeeding
After two days in the car, we are in sunny Albuquerque. Anja did great in the car. Breastfeeding does present a bit of a challenge on the road though. After two moderately successful nursing sessions in the car in which we were a little cramped for space, we stopped at a McDonalds in Muleshoe, Texas. There were several people in the restaurant, so I chose a booth in the corner. There were a couple of older ladies with a little boy in the booth behind me.
Here are the musings in Muleshoe...
"Look! What a precious baby! I think her mommy is going to feed her. That's called breastfeeding. Your mother breastfed you."
Sigh.
It's no wonder why moms don't always care to nurse in public. The ladies did come to our table to admire Anja, which I thought was nice considering they didn't have the decency to KEEP THEIR VOICES DOWN WHILE TALKING ABOUT ME.
Our next adventure came the following day. We were maybe 50 miles from Albuquerque when Anja started fussing to eat. I had not pumped any milk, so I had no bottles. Stopping would take a minimum of twenty minutes, and we were all eager to get out of the car. So what did this acrobatic new mom do? I took off my seat belt, sat on my little nursing pillow to elevate myself, and plopped my boob into the car seat. I sat in the most uncomfortable position possible for fifteen minutes while my darling daughter nursed happily away. She promptly fell asleep and stayed that way until arriving at her grandmother's house.
I'm amazed how much I take for granted the comforts of home...the nice rocking chair, the ottoman my feet often share with the cats, the radio with a remote control, the little lamp I use to nurse her at night. She is far better than I at adapting to our new environment and I am thankful. As long as I can provide her with what she wants, she stays happy.
Here are the musings in Muleshoe...
"Look! What a precious baby! I think her mommy is going to feed her. That's called breastfeeding. Your mother breastfed you."
Sigh.
It's no wonder why moms don't always care to nurse in public. The ladies did come to our table to admire Anja, which I thought was nice considering they didn't have the decency to KEEP THEIR VOICES DOWN WHILE TALKING ABOUT ME.
Our next adventure came the following day. We were maybe 50 miles from Albuquerque when Anja started fussing to eat. I had not pumped any milk, so I had no bottles. Stopping would take a minimum of twenty minutes, and we were all eager to get out of the car. So what did this acrobatic new mom do? I took off my seat belt, sat on my little nursing pillow to elevate myself, and plopped my boob into the car seat. I sat in the most uncomfortable position possible for fifteen minutes while my darling daughter nursed happily away. She promptly fell asleep and stayed that way until arriving at her grandmother's house.
I'm amazed how much I take for granted the comforts of home...the nice rocking chair, the ottoman my feet often share with the cats, the radio with a remote control, the little lamp I use to nurse her at night. She is far better than I at adapting to our new environment and I am thankful. As long as I can provide her with what she wants, she stays happy.
Monday, July 10, 2006
The List Continues
I am always irritated at the sight of parents in a parking lot or in the grocery store (or anywhere), hand in hand with their toddler, walking at their own adult pace, with the poor toddler running behind with his or her short legs, almost struggling to keep up. I always feel a little sad for that toddler, because it is clear to me that the parent is more preoccupied with where they are going than where they are or who they are with. I imagine it is probably clear to the toddler as well.
So the list of things I will strive to never do as a parents continues...
When I am walking somewhere, with my daughter's hand in mine, I will travel at her speed. I will not make her run desperately behind me (unless, of course, it is raining, in which case I will probably pick her up and run). May her speed teach me that I should slow down and appreciate the world around me as she learns about the world around her.
I had more to say, but the cat sitting next to me just made some wierd barfy noise. The job of parenting never ends, even with the felines.
So the list of things I will strive to never do as a parents continues...
When I am walking somewhere, with my daughter's hand in mine, I will travel at her speed. I will not make her run desperately behind me (unless, of course, it is raining, in which case I will probably pick her up and run). May her speed teach me that I should slow down and appreciate the world around me as she learns about the world around her.
I had more to say, but the cat sitting next to me just made some wierd barfy noise. The job of parenting never ends, even with the felines.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Mommy, How Do You Spell Puny?
pu·ny: slight or inferior in power, size, or importance
Anja and I like to watch the baby shows on TV. All of those shows like "Bringing Home Baby," "Runway Moms," and "Maternity Ward." I avoided watching those types of shows during my pregnancy because headlines like "Mary has gestational diabetes and her baby may have two heads" convinced me that Anja may have two heads. These shows are actually more interesting to me now that I know a thing or two about pregnancy and childbirth (and even though I had a c-section, I did attend approximately 12 hours of childbirth education). What Anja and I especially like is when the birth weight of the baby is disclosed. Anja was 9 pounds 11 ounces at birth, placing her at the 95th percentile. What this means is that 95% of babies weighed less than Anja at birth. We refer to these other babies as "puny." So, when the baby's weight is disclosed on television, Anja and I say, in unison:
"Puny baby."
We do not refer to premies as puny. That would just be rude. We also do not refer to babies who are ill at birth as puny. That would just be mean and heartless. And twins: certainly it is hard to reach your maximum potential when you have to share a room. But healthy babies are pretty much fair game. On one show, a nurse stated excitedly that the infant boy who had just been born was so big that he would have to go directly to a size 1 diaper. He weighed 8 pounds 14 ounces.
Everybody together now:
Puny baby.
A few days ago, I was mulling over the posts on the La Leche League message boards and stumbled on one from a new mom who had questions about nursing her son who was large at birth. She was having problems getting him to latch on correctly. She was also concerned because a lactation consultant told her that nursing her son would be like nursing twins, and she did not know if she could maintain enough milk for him. His weight at birth? That little boy, born the day after Anja, weighed...
12 pounds 10 ounces.
Uh-oh.
Seems the table had turned.
I didn't tell Anja that she was now the puny baby. I figure I don't need to start giving her reasons to go to therapy when she is an adult just yet. But I did respond to this mom and we emailed a couple of times about how fun it is to have large babies and how most advice you receive from a lactation consultant can be thrown in the garbage.
I suppose the moral of this story is that what comes around goes around. This is an important life lesson for Anja to learn. However, until she is old enough to comprehend this important lesson, the two of us will continue in our search for...
puny babies.
Anja and I like to watch the baby shows on TV. All of those shows like "Bringing Home Baby," "Runway Moms," and "Maternity Ward." I avoided watching those types of shows during my pregnancy because headlines like "Mary has gestational diabetes and her baby may have two heads" convinced me that Anja may have two heads. These shows are actually more interesting to me now that I know a thing or two about pregnancy and childbirth (and even though I had a c-section, I did attend approximately 12 hours of childbirth education). What Anja and I especially like is when the birth weight of the baby is disclosed. Anja was 9 pounds 11 ounces at birth, placing her at the 95th percentile. What this means is that 95% of babies weighed less than Anja at birth. We refer to these other babies as "puny." So, when the baby's weight is disclosed on television, Anja and I say, in unison:
"Puny baby."
We do not refer to premies as puny. That would just be rude. We also do not refer to babies who are ill at birth as puny. That would just be mean and heartless. And twins: certainly it is hard to reach your maximum potential when you have to share a room. But healthy babies are pretty much fair game. On one show, a nurse stated excitedly that the infant boy who had just been born was so big that he would have to go directly to a size 1 diaper. He weighed 8 pounds 14 ounces.
Everybody together now:
Puny baby.
A few days ago, I was mulling over the posts on the La Leche League message boards and stumbled on one from a new mom who had questions about nursing her son who was large at birth. She was having problems getting him to latch on correctly. She was also concerned because a lactation consultant told her that nursing her son would be like nursing twins, and she did not know if she could maintain enough milk for him. His weight at birth? That little boy, born the day after Anja, weighed...
12 pounds 10 ounces.
Uh-oh.
Seems the table had turned.
I didn't tell Anja that she was now the puny baby. I figure I don't need to start giving her reasons to go to therapy when she is an adult just yet. But I did respond to this mom and we emailed a couple of times about how fun it is to have large babies and how most advice you receive from a lactation consultant can be thrown in the garbage.
I suppose the moral of this story is that what comes around goes around. This is an important life lesson for Anja to learn. However, until she is old enough to comprehend this important lesson, the two of us will continue in our search for...
puny babies.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The Baby Store - For Anja By Mommy
(To be loosely sung to the tune of "The Big Rock Candy Mountain")
Well Mommy went to the baby store
She said "Man, I want me a baby!
With big blue eyes
Dark brown hair
Little fuzzy ears
And moonman toes
Yes, I want me a baby like that."
And the man at the baby store
Said "We don't sell any babies
With big blue eyes
Dark brown hair
Little fuzzy ears
And moonman toes
You have to make a baby like that."
So Mommy went home to Daddy
And said "Daddy make me a baby
With big blue eyes
Dark brown hair
Little fuzzy ears
And moonman toes
I want to make that baby!"
And Daddy said "OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!"
And then just a few months later
Mommy got herself a baby
With big blue eyes
Dark brown hair
Little fuzzy ears
And moonman toes
Mommy finally got her a baby!
Well Mommy went to the baby store
She said "Man, I want me a baby!
With big blue eyes
Dark brown hair
Little fuzzy ears
And moonman toes
Yes, I want me a baby like that."
And the man at the baby store
Said "We don't sell any babies
With big blue eyes
Dark brown hair
Little fuzzy ears
And moonman toes
You have to make a baby like that."
So Mommy went home to Daddy
And said "Daddy make me a baby
With big blue eyes
Dark brown hair
Little fuzzy ears
And moonman toes
I want to make that baby!"
And Daddy said "OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!"
And then just a few months later
Mommy got herself a baby
With big blue eyes
Dark brown hair
Little fuzzy ears
And moonman toes
Mommy finally got her a baby!
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Blue Jean Baby And Porn Star? Oh - They're Still Sleeping
The sperm donor was sweet enough last night to give Anja a bottle at midnight, giving me the opportunity for some extra sleep. For me, however, this nice gift meant that I missed the opportunity to feed her. Therefore, I continued to make milk and store it in my expanding boobs. Sometimes I think to myself that I should use the handy breast pump before I go to bed, but usually I'm so tired that I just don't care. So when I got up to pee at about 5 a.m., I looked like I had just purchased a mighty fine boob job. Or better yet, I looked like a porn star. A porn star who was in some pain it seemed, so I sleepily proceeded to the kitchen, assembled the handy breast pump, and went about my business. Anja was starting to smack on her thumb about that time. I am beginning to realize that chomping on one of her own body parts may mean that she is hungry. I offered her the other side, and, a half hour later, I was no longer my porn star persona. I had become the woman you see in Africa on the National Geographic specials, with her breasts sagging down to her knees. Anja appeared to have gone back to sleep, but her eyes bounced open the second I set her in the crib. So I took ahold of her, her blanket, and her pacifier, and headed towards my bedroom.
Shortly before Anja was born, the sperm donor bought us a new king size bed and an awesome Tempur-Pedic mattress. I have visions of a small dark-haired girl with giant blue eyes, just old enough to crawl out of her own bed, who walks into my room and says "Mommy, can I sleep in your bed?" At which point, I will scoop her up and plop her in the middle of my awesome Tempur-Pedic mattress, right in between the sperm donor and me. But I don't put her in bed with me very often now. I am all for co-sleeping with your infant; my close friend does it with her twins all the time. But I just fear blankets and sheets and pillows and a new mom who really enjoys sleeping without up to nine pounds of baby inside of her. But, this morning, with the sperm donor out on his Saturday morning bike ride, I figured I could get Anja back to sleep in the big bed. And I did, shortly before 7 a.m. I awoke to the sound of poop filling her diaper. Lovely. It was 10 a.m.
I can't remember the last time I slept until 10 a.m. Extra lovely.
We got up, cleaned her diaper. She ate, and then I dressed her in her very first pair of jeans. I got me a little blue jean baby. They are a little bit big, but as I always tell Anja: when you are a baby, you can grow into your clothes but when you are an adult you can only grow out of them.
Shortly before Anja was born, the sperm donor bought us a new king size bed and an awesome Tempur-Pedic mattress. I have visions of a small dark-haired girl with giant blue eyes, just old enough to crawl out of her own bed, who walks into my room and says "Mommy, can I sleep in your bed?" At which point, I will scoop her up and plop her in the middle of my awesome Tempur-Pedic mattress, right in between the sperm donor and me. But I don't put her in bed with me very often now. I am all for co-sleeping with your infant; my close friend does it with her twins all the time. But I just fear blankets and sheets and pillows and a new mom who really enjoys sleeping without up to nine pounds of baby inside of her. But, this morning, with the sperm donor out on his Saturday morning bike ride, I figured I could get Anja back to sleep in the big bed. And I did, shortly before 7 a.m. I awoke to the sound of poop filling her diaper. Lovely. It was 10 a.m.
I can't remember the last time I slept until 10 a.m. Extra lovely.
We got up, cleaned her diaper. She ate, and then I dressed her in her very first pair of jeans. I got me a little blue jean baby. They are a little bit big, but as I always tell Anja: when you are a baby, you can grow into your clothes but when you are an adult you can only grow out of them.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Sucker
Anja perfected the art of sucking before birth. She was even born with the little sucker's blister that breastfed babies get; it's a little callous in the middle of her upper lip. My OB suggested that Anja was probably sucking on her hands when she lived inside of me. And why not? Big baby. Small space. Where else were her hands supposed to go?
Anja first experienced the pacifier on Mother's Day. At that point, the sperm donor and I had endured about a week of Anja being VERY fussy in the evenings. Not as bad as colic was described, though I feared it would turn into that. She would cry, would be almost inconsolable. The only thing that would soothe her was to walk around the house with her, so the sperm donor and I would take turns doing this. Eventually she would fall asleep for the night. On Mother's Day, we tried to go out for some gelato. The little gelato place was crowded with other families doing the same thing, and she fussed the whole time. So we got our gelato to go, and headed home...the long way...because we knew she would fall asleep.
A friend had suggested we try the pacifier, stating from her own experience that it might quiet Anja (the key word, I suppose, being "pacify"). So, when we came home from the gelato place, I pulled out all of the pacifiers I had received from various sources, found one that looked as though it might fit in her mouth, washed it, and stuck it in her mouth.
Silence is golden.
I later read that newborns often become fussy in the evenings because their little brains are trying to process all of the stimuli they have encountered during the day. The pacifier seemed to slow the world down...she would suddenly just relax. Now we use the pacifier mainly as a sleep aid. Anja resists sleep, especially naps, like the plague, so a little pacifier time lets her relax enough to close her little eyes and drift off to sleep. I try to avoid her actually sleeping with it, but she usually takes care of that: I go creeping into her room to pull the pacifier out of her mouth only to find that she has already spit it out and is happily, although somewhat noisily, sleeping.
But it seems the pacifier is going to be replaced.
At night, I sometimes hear Anja sucking on her hands over the baby monitor. She sometimes sounds as if she might be awake, so I go creeping into her room only to find her all squirmy with her hands in her face. And her eyes closed. Usually, she actually wakes up within thirty minutes or so. But this morning I walked in and found her sucking on one little part.
Her thumb. I've got a thumb sucker. She's very cute, sleeping away with her thumb in her mouth. I took a picture of it before I woke her from her nap this morning. And I'm okay with that. I visualize a little girl in her mommy's lap with her thumb in her mouth and that is a vision that is very precious to me.
Anja first experienced the pacifier on Mother's Day. At that point, the sperm donor and I had endured about a week of Anja being VERY fussy in the evenings. Not as bad as colic was described, though I feared it would turn into that. She would cry, would be almost inconsolable. The only thing that would soothe her was to walk around the house with her, so the sperm donor and I would take turns doing this. Eventually she would fall asleep for the night. On Mother's Day, we tried to go out for some gelato. The little gelato place was crowded with other families doing the same thing, and she fussed the whole time. So we got our gelato to go, and headed home...the long way...because we knew she would fall asleep.
A friend had suggested we try the pacifier, stating from her own experience that it might quiet Anja (the key word, I suppose, being "pacify"). So, when we came home from the gelato place, I pulled out all of the pacifiers I had received from various sources, found one that looked as though it might fit in her mouth, washed it, and stuck it in her mouth.
Silence is golden.
I later read that newborns often become fussy in the evenings because their little brains are trying to process all of the stimuli they have encountered during the day. The pacifier seemed to slow the world down...she would suddenly just relax. Now we use the pacifier mainly as a sleep aid. Anja resists sleep, especially naps, like the plague, so a little pacifier time lets her relax enough to close her little eyes and drift off to sleep. I try to avoid her actually sleeping with it, but she usually takes care of that: I go creeping into her room to pull the pacifier out of her mouth only to find that she has already spit it out and is happily, although somewhat noisily, sleeping.
But it seems the pacifier is going to be replaced.
At night, I sometimes hear Anja sucking on her hands over the baby monitor. She sometimes sounds as if she might be awake, so I go creeping into her room only to find her all squirmy with her hands in her face. And her eyes closed. Usually, she actually wakes up within thirty minutes or so. But this morning I walked in and found her sucking on one little part.
Her thumb. I've got a thumb sucker. She's very cute, sleeping away with her thumb in her mouth. I took a picture of it before I woke her from her nap this morning. And I'm okay with that. I visualize a little girl in her mommy's lap with her thumb in her mouth and that is a vision that is very precious to me.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
I'm A Little Bit Somber
Today, June 29, is the tenth anniversary of the day the sperm donor and I moved into the only home we have ever bought together. I remember the movers dumped all of our boxes into one room, even though I had, in my o-c way, labeled each and every one of them. I remember this house seemed so big then. I think we only had furniture for the living room and our bedroom. A couple of hand-me-down beds from my great aunt and suddenly we had guest rooms. I never envisioned at that time the little beauty who would live in one of those rooms today.
After we finished moving our few belongings into our home, we took a couple of helpful friends for dinner. When we returned home, my mother called, stating that my grandmother had just died. She had suffered a heart attack the week before. When we arrived at my grandmother's home, there were fire trucks and police cars all parked along the front of her house as though there was complete chaos inside. After the law enforcement left, my grandmother's minister came to the home, led us in prayer, and things calmed down. This was probably the worst day of my life. I remember returning to my new home, where I had neither toilet paper nor an assembled bed, and fell asleep on the couch with tissues in my hand, while the sperm donor slept on the floor next to me.
In the years since her death, I have come to realize how dear my grandmother was to me, something I wish I had truly realized while she was still alive. When I was a child, she would come to my house and we would have tickle fights. She was "Big Rascal" and I was "Little Rascal". I used to spend a week with her every summer and I remember she would always dress me up and take me to lunch at the Hemisfair Tower. One summer, I was ill for most of the week I spent with her, and I recall being so upset because we could not do anything fun. When we spent summers in Colorado, she would tell me about the mountains and the rocks (I recall from her memorial service the minister said "Amy loved rocks."), and I didn't care much then, but apparently I listened because I still remember it when I see those rocks. Now I am the one collecting the rocks on hikes and saying to the sperm donor "Here. Carry this." She kept every picture I drew her and every paper I wrote. She used to mail me Garfield cartoons from her newspaper every week. She signed all of her cards "GM". When I was in college, she would let me come over and do my laundry. When the sperm donor and I got married, we stored the top of our wedding cake in her deep freeze; later, she and her sister would say it sure tasted good.
Yesterday, I walked Anja around the house and showed her some pictures I have up of her great-grandmother, including the one of her sitting at the head of the dining room table which now sits in my home. I hope that wherever my grandmother is, that she can see little Anja - see her smile, she her laugh, see her as she studies herself in the mirror I bought for her crib, see her with her little thumb in her mouth. I know she would be proud.
I love you, GM. I miss you a lot too.
After we finished moving our few belongings into our home, we took a couple of helpful friends for dinner. When we returned home, my mother called, stating that my grandmother had just died. She had suffered a heart attack the week before. When we arrived at my grandmother's home, there were fire trucks and police cars all parked along the front of her house as though there was complete chaos inside. After the law enforcement left, my grandmother's minister came to the home, led us in prayer, and things calmed down. This was probably the worst day of my life. I remember returning to my new home, where I had neither toilet paper nor an assembled bed, and fell asleep on the couch with tissues in my hand, while the sperm donor slept on the floor next to me.
In the years since her death, I have come to realize how dear my grandmother was to me, something I wish I had truly realized while she was still alive. When I was a child, she would come to my house and we would have tickle fights. She was "Big Rascal" and I was "Little Rascal". I used to spend a week with her every summer and I remember she would always dress me up and take me to lunch at the Hemisfair Tower. One summer, I was ill for most of the week I spent with her, and I recall being so upset because we could not do anything fun. When we spent summers in Colorado, she would tell me about the mountains and the rocks (I recall from her memorial service the minister said "Amy loved rocks."), and I didn't care much then, but apparently I listened because I still remember it when I see those rocks. Now I am the one collecting the rocks on hikes and saying to the sperm donor "Here. Carry this." She kept every picture I drew her and every paper I wrote. She used to mail me Garfield cartoons from her newspaper every week. She signed all of her cards "GM". When I was in college, she would let me come over and do my laundry. When the sperm donor and I got married, we stored the top of our wedding cake in her deep freeze; later, she and her sister would say it sure tasted good.
Yesterday, I walked Anja around the house and showed her some pictures I have up of her great-grandmother, including the one of her sitting at the head of the dining room table which now sits in my home. I hope that wherever my grandmother is, that she can see little Anja - see her smile, she her laugh, see her as she studies herself in the mirror I bought for her crib, see her with her little thumb in her mouth. I know she would be proud.
I love you, GM. I miss you a lot too.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
HEY! Who's That Baby In My Gym???
My mother bought a play gym for Anja. The play gym has mainly been useful to put her in so she can kick her legs and swing her arms. I think she is still appreciating the amount of room she has since leaving the womb. Anyway, yesterday, she looked into the mirror and stared at her reflection. For a really long time. Of course, she doesn't know it is her; at best, maybe it's just another baby. But she kept staring at herself, then she smiled at herself, then she stuck her tongue out at herself.
And me without my camera. I'm hoping for a repeat performance later today.
The same baby also makes appearances in the car it seems, so we have determined that she really wants to be friends with Anja. I think that maybe she is one of those annoying people at the actual gym who is always there when you are there, no matter what time of day.
In regards to current headlines...put yourself in this scenario. You are an attorney in Iraq. Saddam Hussein calls you and says "Hey man. It seems I'm in pretty desperate need for an attorney right about now. You game?"
Run for your life!
And me without my camera. I'm hoping for a repeat performance later today.
The same baby also makes appearances in the car it seems, so we have determined that she really wants to be friends with Anja. I think that maybe she is one of those annoying people at the actual gym who is always there when you are there, no matter what time of day.
In regards to current headlines...put yourself in this scenario. You are an attorney in Iraq. Saddam Hussein calls you and says "Hey man. It seems I'm in pretty desperate need for an attorney right about now. You game?"
Run for your life!
Monday, June 19, 2006
Am I Dreaming??
Anja was put in her crib to sleep at 11:00 last night, just before overtime started in the Dallas-Miami game. Sperm donor gave her a bottle at about 12:30.
When did she wake up again to eat?
I know you are at the edge of your seat.
6:45.
She slept through the night. For the very first time.
One would think that mom got this fabulous sleep, but I woke up at 4 thinking "She's going to want to eat soon." Then I woke up at 5-ish, thinking, "Doesn't she want to eat?" Then I woke up at 6:30, thinking "She's going to be starving."
And she was.
Now she's enjoying her mid-morning snooze. Soon, we'll eat again, get dressed, then go to Target to buy diapers and a Starbucks!
When did she wake up again to eat?
I know you are at the edge of your seat.
6:45.
She slept through the night. For the very first time.
One would think that mom got this fabulous sleep, but I woke up at 4 thinking "She's going to want to eat soon." Then I woke up at 5-ish, thinking, "Doesn't she want to eat?" Then I woke up at 6:30, thinking "She's going to be starving."
And she was.
Now she's enjoying her mid-morning snooze. Soon, we'll eat again, get dressed, then go to Target to buy diapers and a Starbucks!
Saturday, June 17, 2006
And One More Thing About Breastfeeding, Then I'll Shut Up About It...For Now
It would sure be nice if the government, in its effort to promote breastfeeding, could also highly encourage retailers and other businesses to provide comfortable spaces for moms to nurse. As a friend of mine once said: I wouldn't eat my lunch in a public restroom, so why should my baby??
Friday, June 16, 2006
Breastfeeding 101
The United States Department of Health and Human Services recently issued a public service campaign to promote breastfeeding in first-time mothers. Current statistics indicate that 70 percent of first-time mothers initiate breastfeeding, but that only 33 percent are still doing it when their child is 6 months of age. NBC News reported that the primary reason for that drop is because mothers return to work, and while I agree with that....well, here's my two cents.
From the minute I learned I was pregnant, there was no doubt in my mind I would breastfeed Anja. The benefits were far too many to count. The sperm donor and I went to breastfeeding class at the hospital where Anja was born. I think the woman who taught it was high on crack. Seriously. She spent the entire 3-hour class talking with a smile on her face and her eyes closed. It was almost as though she was singing dreamily about breastfeeding. So we learned the basics: how to latch the baby, how to hold the baby, how long to nurse the baby, how to know the baby is finished, what the waste products of breastmilk look like, why to breastfeed at all, etc. There was nothing covered that I had not already heard or read. Crack woman made it sound like it was so easy; you just pick up the baby, hook her on the boob, and, abracadabra, she eats. No problem. Right?
I asked to see a lactation consultant from the minute Anja was born, which was at 8:45 on a Wednesday morning. In fact, I asked before they even wheeled me into the operating room. Said lactation consultant finally showed up the next afternoon, and was about as helpful as a little toe. Meanwhile, I can't latch poor Anja on because I had just had a C-section and was connected to an IV, a catheter, and a pulse ox. And she keeps falling asleep while eating. Here's a mental image: me, Anja, the sperm donor, and my mother, all hovering around my boob, trying to get newborn Anja to latch on and eat. Little toe lady said Anja is supposed to nurse for 30-40 minutes. First, her stomach is about as big as a quarter. Second, she keeps falling asleep. "Breastfeeding is so easy," the crack woman sang. Right.
Anja has never really had the normal yellow poops of a breastfed baby. Hers are green. Various shades, some quite pretty. I mentioned this to the pediatrician at our 2-week check-up, who said it was because of my diet. But Anja was growing at the 95th percentile, so whatever. Later Anja started choking and wheezing and sputtering every time I ate. What was this?? Crack woman mentioned nothing about the possibility of my daughter choking to death while eating off me. A call to a lactation consultant revealed that my milk came out too fast for Anja to keep up with. That's when I learned that if you ask three lactation consultants one question, you will get three different answers.
So the bottom line was that my milk came out too fast for Anja, so she would fill up really quickly. Unfortunately, she would fill up on the skim milk version of my milk rather than the half and half. If you know anything about the science of breastfeeding, this will make sense to you. I've spent the past several weeks trying different strategies for Anja to have more half and half.
Sometimes I sit in my nice glider nursing chair listening to my daughter sputter away and I think to myself "I could just pump everything out and stick a bottle in her mouth. Or better yet, get formula." But I don't because I made a commitment to her. It has been a commitment that has brought many tears wondering if she is getting enough to eat. I can be the persistent type. But I can easily see why other women would give up.
I am in debt to the La Leche League website. Their message boards have showed me that though my problems are relatively minor, there is a lot of empathy from other moms. Many of us posting are new at breastfeeding, and I for one am thankful for the experienced moms giving suggestions and support.
So I hope the US Department of Health and Human Services takes this into consideration. I have had to educate myself about breastfeeding; I have had to find my own answers. I also have a master's degree (indicating some modicum of intelligence) and internet access. But not all women are me, and they get scared and the process becomes intimidating, and they quit. I strive to still be doing this in four months. Again, I made a commitment to her.
Anyway, someone's hungry. Gotta go whip out the boob again. And at her two-month check-up yesterday? Still 95th percentile for height and weight; the doctor said she got an A+. Something's working.
From the minute I learned I was pregnant, there was no doubt in my mind I would breastfeed Anja. The benefits were far too many to count. The sperm donor and I went to breastfeeding class at the hospital where Anja was born. I think the woman who taught it was high on crack. Seriously. She spent the entire 3-hour class talking with a smile on her face and her eyes closed. It was almost as though she was singing dreamily about breastfeeding. So we learned the basics: how to latch the baby, how to hold the baby, how long to nurse the baby, how to know the baby is finished, what the waste products of breastmilk look like, why to breastfeed at all, etc. There was nothing covered that I had not already heard or read. Crack woman made it sound like it was so easy; you just pick up the baby, hook her on the boob, and, abracadabra, she eats. No problem. Right?
I asked to see a lactation consultant from the minute Anja was born, which was at 8:45 on a Wednesday morning. In fact, I asked before they even wheeled me into the operating room. Said lactation consultant finally showed up the next afternoon, and was about as helpful as a little toe. Meanwhile, I can't latch poor Anja on because I had just had a C-section and was connected to an IV, a catheter, and a pulse ox. And she keeps falling asleep while eating. Here's a mental image: me, Anja, the sperm donor, and my mother, all hovering around my boob, trying to get newborn Anja to latch on and eat. Little toe lady said Anja is supposed to nurse for 30-40 minutes. First, her stomach is about as big as a quarter. Second, she keeps falling asleep. "Breastfeeding is so easy," the crack woman sang. Right.
Anja has never really had the normal yellow poops of a breastfed baby. Hers are green. Various shades, some quite pretty. I mentioned this to the pediatrician at our 2-week check-up, who said it was because of my diet. But Anja was growing at the 95th percentile, so whatever. Later Anja started choking and wheezing and sputtering every time I ate. What was this?? Crack woman mentioned nothing about the possibility of my daughter choking to death while eating off me. A call to a lactation consultant revealed that my milk came out too fast for Anja to keep up with. That's when I learned that if you ask three lactation consultants one question, you will get three different answers.
So the bottom line was that my milk came out too fast for Anja, so she would fill up really quickly. Unfortunately, she would fill up on the skim milk version of my milk rather than the half and half. If you know anything about the science of breastfeeding, this will make sense to you. I've spent the past several weeks trying different strategies for Anja to have more half and half.
Sometimes I sit in my nice glider nursing chair listening to my daughter sputter away and I think to myself "I could just pump everything out and stick a bottle in her mouth. Or better yet, get formula." But I don't because I made a commitment to her. It has been a commitment that has brought many tears wondering if she is getting enough to eat. I can be the persistent type. But I can easily see why other women would give up.
I am in debt to the La Leche League website. Their message boards have showed me that though my problems are relatively minor, there is a lot of empathy from other moms. Many of us posting are new at breastfeeding, and I for one am thankful for the experienced moms giving suggestions and support.
So I hope the US Department of Health and Human Services takes this into consideration. I have had to educate myself about breastfeeding; I have had to find my own answers. I also have a master's degree (indicating some modicum of intelligence) and internet access. But not all women are me, and they get scared and the process becomes intimidating, and they quit. I strive to still be doing this in four months. Again, I made a commitment to her.
Anyway, someone's hungry. Gotta go whip out the boob again. And at her two-month check-up yesterday? Still 95th percentile for height and weight; the doctor said she got an A+. Something's working.
Friday, June 02, 2006
The Day 9-11 Took On A Whole New Meaning
Do I still have any readers out there?? I suspect not. Give me a break - I'm a mom now. Blog?? What's a blog??
On April 12, a couple of really nice doctors cut a small hole in me and pulled out a very big baby girl. The whole experience was a bit surreal. The c-section was a possibility. A few days before her birth, a sonogram revealed a very large baby. My doctor wanted to induce labor that day and see how I progressed. I freaked. That day??? I mean I know I had been pregnant for nearly 9 months, but have a baby that day???? Was she kidding????? The little coral outfit I bought for her coming home didn't fit anymore and she wasn't even born yet! My glider nursing chair still hadn't come in at Babies R Us!! That day??? The sonogram showed that Anja was big, but was fine, so we waited out the weekend. I'm convinced she had no interest in coming out anyway. I remember bits and pieces of the surgery: I remember the nice anesthesiologist who kept leaning over my face to give me the play-by-play of what was happening. He always appeared in my vision upside down. After every thing was over I realized that I was really thankful that he said "Oh look, they already started" instead of "OK. They're going to start now." I remember that the nurse took my glasses away before the surgery started, so when my doctor brought Anja over for me to see, she was just a blurry blob. I kept throwing up after the surgery, so I'm not even sure how long it was before I saw her up close, got to hold her. Looking back, it feels as though it was a really long time.
When she was born, she weighed 9 pounds 11 ounces. And 21 inches long. She wasn't petite. At the pediatrician's office a few days later, I was told she was the size of a 2 month old.
She wasn't petite but she sure is beautiful. I have a little song I made up for her about how I went to the baby store to buy me a baby with big blue eyes, dark brown hair (she has lots of it!), fuzzy little ears, moonman toes, and an extra chin, but the guy working there said they didn't sell babies like that, so I ran home and told Daddy that I wanted a baby with big blue eyes, dark brown hair, fuzzy little ears, moonman toes, and an extra chin, so that's what I got. She is starting to smile with regular frequency too; she likes the funny noises we make and she likes when I tell her that I put a clean diaper on for her to poop on (a la Triumph). And she likes when I tell her about how the injured prize-winning horse limped back to his stall after surgery and munched on some hay. She coos too; we move her chin around when she lets out a big long vowel, and it sounds like she is trying to say words.
I'm tired most of the time, so blogging is dead last on the list of things to be done. I'm just finally getting her birth announcements out to unsuspecting friends who figured we would never be parents. I have blog entries planned in my mind, mostly formulated at 4 a.m. feedings - check back weekly, I'll get them out.
Oh, I know; someday I'll get around to changing the ticker.
On April 12, a couple of really nice doctors cut a small hole in me and pulled out a very big baby girl. The whole experience was a bit surreal. The c-section was a possibility. A few days before her birth, a sonogram revealed a very large baby. My doctor wanted to induce labor that day and see how I progressed. I freaked. That day??? I mean I know I had been pregnant for nearly 9 months, but have a baby that day???? Was she kidding????? The little coral outfit I bought for her coming home didn't fit anymore and she wasn't even born yet! My glider nursing chair still hadn't come in at Babies R Us!! That day??? The sonogram showed that Anja was big, but was fine, so we waited out the weekend. I'm convinced she had no interest in coming out anyway. I remember bits and pieces of the surgery: I remember the nice anesthesiologist who kept leaning over my face to give me the play-by-play of what was happening. He always appeared in my vision upside down. After every thing was over I realized that I was really thankful that he said "Oh look, they already started" instead of "OK. They're going to start now." I remember that the nurse took my glasses away before the surgery started, so when my doctor brought Anja over for me to see, she was just a blurry blob. I kept throwing up after the surgery, so I'm not even sure how long it was before I saw her up close, got to hold her. Looking back, it feels as though it was a really long time.
When she was born, she weighed 9 pounds 11 ounces. And 21 inches long. She wasn't petite. At the pediatrician's office a few days later, I was told she was the size of a 2 month old.
She wasn't petite but she sure is beautiful. I have a little song I made up for her about how I went to the baby store to buy me a baby with big blue eyes, dark brown hair (she has lots of it!), fuzzy little ears, moonman toes, and an extra chin, but the guy working there said they didn't sell babies like that, so I ran home and told Daddy that I wanted a baby with big blue eyes, dark brown hair, fuzzy little ears, moonman toes, and an extra chin, so that's what I got. She is starting to smile with regular frequency too; she likes the funny noises we make and she likes when I tell her that I put a clean diaper on for her to poop on (a la Triumph). And she likes when I tell her about how the injured prize-winning horse limped back to his stall after surgery and munched on some hay. She coos too; we move her chin around when she lets out a big long vowel, and it sounds like she is trying to say words.
I'm tired most of the time, so blogging is dead last on the list of things to be done. I'm just finally getting her birth announcements out to unsuspecting friends who figured we would never be parents. I have blog entries planned in my mind, mostly formulated at 4 a.m. feedings - check back weekly, I'll get them out.
Oh, I know; someday I'll get around to changing the ticker.
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