Lawyerish

On Names and Lowered Expectations

We chose Felicity's name when I was about five minutes pregnant.  It was a warm August Saturday and we took the dog to Central Park and sat on a hill overlooking the tennis courts.  We'd seen the happy read-out on the digital stick maybe a week -- at most, two -- before, and I was still nervous about the whole thing, frightened it would disappear or that it was somehow wishful thinking in the first place.  Nevertheless, that summer afternoon Joe asked what I was thinking in terms of names. 

We'd had a boy name in our pocket for ages from which we'd never wavered, but girl names were something of a minefield; it seemed like I had an endless list of names I loved, and when I read it aloud Joe would veto 99% of them out of hand.  And I knew which name I really, really wanted for this baby, but I thought for sure he would hate it.  I imagined him making a disgusted face and rolling his eyes and saying, "Uh, no.  Next!" 

Instead, the conversation went something like this:

"So have you thought about names yet?"
"Well...yeah.  But you're going to hate the name I want."
"I'm sure I won't hate it.  Unless maybe it's Shaka Zulu."
"Ok.  It's Felicity."
"We'd use Jean as her middle name, right?"
"Of course."  [Jean was Joe's mom's name; she passed away from ALS in 1999.]
"Felicity Jean...  I like it.  I like it a lot.  It's really pretty."
"Really?  You don't think it's dumb because of the TV show or anything?"
"The show was, what, ten years ago?  And we're not naming her AFTER the show."
"Right.  And it means 'happiness' or 'joy.'  She's -- well, if it's a she -- going to be our happiness and joy."
"Felicity Jean.  Done."

Once we found out we were having a girl, I couldn't help but smile like a loon every time I thought of her name.  I love that it's different but not weird; it's somewhat old-fashioned but not fuddy-duddy-ish; it's feminine but not overly fussy; it works as an adult name as well as a baby name; and it's English-sounding, which for some reason makes me happy.  In a way, I wanted to find a name that's similar to mine in those respects; even though I could never find pencils or mini license plates with "Meredith" on them as a kid, I liked that my name wasn't too common and it had a certain sound quality to it that I couldn't quite articulate.  I think it suits her and I hope she grows to love it, too.

Separately, one thing I'm loving about the early post-partum period is how lowered everyone's expectations are, how you can be commended simply for existing among the land of the living.  The other day, we were in a baby store (there is always SOMEthing more that we need, it seems) and this incredibly chic, tall, rail-thin woman came over to me and peered into the stroller.  She clasped her hands and exclaimed over Felicity; she said she has a six-month old and she'd forgotten how tiny they were.  Then she looked at me and said, "Wow, you look great!" 

To be clear:  I did NOT look great; I was in lounge pants and a fleece, with my hair in a frizzed-out ponytail and no makeup on.  My skin was (and is) craggly and dry (especially next to newborn skin, holy Moses; suddenly I look 90 years old) and there's still that noticeable lump in my abdomen area.  Still, I walked out of there feeling rather pleased with myself just for having left the house for that single hour of the day.

Then we were in the Gap and I was waiting with the stroller for Joe to pay for my new sunwashed snap-front henley shirts (Lynette is right, they are PERFECT for nursing, and I'm already thinking I'll need more than the two I got), and when he came back he said that the cashier had told him to tell me that I was "a super hero" for being out and about two weeks after giving birth.  A SUPER HERO.  Because I was upright and made it a few blocks from the apartment.

I'm wondering how long I can milk this.  How long is it before I can no longer say that I JUST had a baby? Because while I'm never one to give myself a break (already I am bristling at the "no exercise for six weeks" directive and berating myself for not being more pulled together or getting more done, not to mention worrying that I'm not doing enough for the baby -- should I be playing with her more? reading to her? talking to her all the time? teaching her differential equations? even though she sleeps about 20 hours a day (saving her wakefulness for the hours between 1 and 5am)), I certainly don't mind if other people give me credit for doing nothing much at all. 

Truly, some days I have been unable to leave the house -- like yesterday, which followed a night of unending screaminess of indistinct origin (my guess is that the cannelini in my dinner salad did not agree with Her Royal Highness's tummy), resulting in my having The Thousand-Yard Stare for the rest of our waking hours -- but when I do, I'd like to have some kind of sign that reflects my new-mom status so that the general public does not assume that I am simply Unwashed (though I have showered every day, thanks to Joe's morning dates with the baby). 

Someone get this woman some makeup!

Gratuitous baby photos:

Due Date/Two Weeks

Today is my due date and Felicity's two-week birthday. 

I just said a little prayer of gratitude that I am no longer pregnant and that we've had two more weeks with this baby on the outside than originally predicted. 

(OH, and before I forget!  The carseat issue that some of you asked about:  we just stick the seat in the back of the cab and use the shoulder belt to secure it (without the base).  It takes about five seconds and sometimes the driver will even wait for us to strap it in before careening out into traffic.)

The time has gone by in a blur, and while Felicity isn't doing our taxes yet, she's changed in a few discernible ways:  her cheeks are filling out; her head is bigger; her hair grows every day; she's gained some neck folds and a slight double chin; her legs are less scrunched, although she still spends a lot of time all curled up and fetal-like; her arm-waving has become more emphatic, especially at feeding time, which presents a few challenges in getting her settled and positioned to actually eat (sigh); and she spends a bit more time each day looking around alertly and/or fussing her little red face off.

Felicity still has a touch of jaundice, which is rather tiresome.  We took her to the pediatrician earlier this week and her bilirubin had crept up a tad since she was discharged from the NICU last Friday; as of today, she's looking a notch or two yellower so we'll go back again early next week for another blood draw.  If her levels continue to go up, we may have to interrupt nursing for 24 hours and give her formula; apparently, this would flush out her system and break some kind of enzyme cycle between mom and baby that can perpetuate jaundice.  I'm really, really hoping we don't have to go that route, as we've gotten into a nice feeding routine and I'd hate to lose even a day of that bonding time.  (In the first round of treatment, we had to supplement with an ounce or two of formula at each feeding to jump-start her digestive system, and when we gave her the initial bottle I stood there and cried like a big loser.)

(Mind you, before I had her if someone had told me I'd be upset about this, I would have been all, oh PLEASE, it's just a DAY; but I'm already learning that all the little things that I didn't think would be a big deal or that I pooh-poohed when other people freaked out?  Always come back and bite me in the butt.)

We've settled into a cozy routine around here.  I feed Felicity every three hours, and I have been sleeping in the nursery (so it WAS a good idea to keep the guest bed in there, huzzah!) because each feeding involves an alarm going off, a diaper change, a fumbling out into the living room to the chair that's most comfortable for nursing, a brief but obligatory period of fussing, 20-40 minutes of feeding, 5 minutes of burping (by both of us -- I swear, when I burp Felicity, I end up having several eruptions of my own, as if to show her how it's done), another diaper change, some more fussing, a reswaddle and some rocking/coaxing to sleep. 

Joe and I decided early on that it was better for me to deal with all this without waking him up 47 times a night, because the division of labor in our household is now this:  I feed the baby, and Joe does EVERYTHING ELSE.  So we need him to be wakeful and fully functioning during the day, whereas I can pretty much be a useless lump for every hour that isn't spent giving life-sustaining food to our child. 

Anyway, our typical day -- from midnight to midnight -- looks something like this:

1:00 -1:45 am:  feed, burp, diaper, swaddle, coax back to sleep

4:00 - 4:45 am:  feed, burp, diaper, swaddle, coax back to sleep

7:00 - 7:45 am:  feed, burp, diaper, swaddle, hand baby over to Joe

7:45 - 10:00 am:  Joe's morning date with Felicity -- he lays with her on his chest on the couch and reads to her, tells her stories, sings to her, watches boxing with her, listens to music with her and, most importantly, lets me sleep for a blissful stretch of hours during which I don't have to have one ear tuned to her breathing frequency

9:30 - 10:00 am:  I get up and shower and shove down a Balance Bar

10:00 - 10:45 am:  feed, burp, diaper, clothe baby; place baby on Boppy or cushion to hang out

10:45 - 1:00 pm:  breakfast (hastily consumed bowl of cereal); staring blankly at TV; reading email and blogs; uploading latest photos; weather permitting, family outing to Central Park; Joe runs errands and/or does work and/or cleans; once a week, I do laundry

1:00 - 1:45 pm:  feed, burp, diaper; place baby on Boppy or cushion to hang out

1:45 - 4:00 pm:  another Central Park or neighborhood outing; Joe does more errands/work/cleaning; I sit listlessly on couch and stare at the baby, plus write thank you notes and more emails and some website-checking; I consider reading about infant care to make sure I'm not screwing the kid up but decide to do nothing instead; possible nap

4:00 - 4:45 pm:  feed, burp, diaper; place baby on Boppy or cushion to hang out

4:45 - 7:00 pm:  see 1:45 - 4:00

7:00 - 7:45 pm:  feed, burp, diaper; place baby on Boppy or cushion to hang out

7:45 - 10:00 pm:  Joe makes dinner and cleans up afterward; evening TV (is it me, or is there NOTHING ON anymore that's worth watching, other than 30 Rock?); baby-staring and cuddling on couch

10:00 - 10:45 pm:  feed, burp, diaper, swaddle, bedtime

and we begin again!

For my part, I feel pretty decent.  My body has mostly healed in the pertinent places, although I do have a lingering cranky back/hip that STILL makes me walk funny and randomly shoots pain down my leg, although with some aggressive stretching and tennis ball massage in the evenings it seems to be slowly improving.  I've lost 28 pounds since the birth, but I still have 15 to go, so I'm wearing mostly maternity pants or sweats since none of my regular clothes fit yet (I'm not stressing about this, I swear -- it's pretty amazing how quickly things change with the exit of the baby, and I know I'll eventually be able to wear real pants again). 

I have had some hormonal moments, such as BURSTING into tears while looking at Felicity because I'm not sure I can handle how much I love her (the one time that happened, it was her one-week birthday at her precise time of birth) and having a small breakdown in the kitchen when I messed up part of the one dinner I made when my parents were here, but on the whole I think I have been reasonably level-headed -- or at least not as hair-trigger emotional as I thought I would be.  Joe and I had one spate of crankiness in each other's direction involving the placement of some new lamps (it was late and we were both starving -- low blood sugar is a mood-killer every time) and there was one full-family meltdown late one night when the baby was screaming uncontrollably and the dog chose that moment to crap in the bedroom and puke all over the bathroom and living room.  But otherwise we have been rolling merrily along. 

We celebrated Felicity's one-week birthday with my parents; my mom made Pioneer Woman's meatloaf, mashed potatoes and cupcakes, and we washed it down with a Vintage 2000 Dom Perignon that Joe had gotten me for Valentine's Day in anticipation of the birth (ohhhhh, what a way to get back to drinking; it was perfection in a bottle).  Tonight we're hailing Week Two and the (non) due date with cheeseburgers and Perrier Jouet.

Maybe we won't celebrate EVERY week of her life this way (or maybe we will, come to that), but no matter how big she gets and how much she changes, I know we'll still look at each other in incredulity that she's here and that we finally did it, it's our turn at last.

Hospital Staycation

Shortly before Felicity's arrival, Linda at Sundry posted this entry about her hospital stays after the birth of each of her sons.  She had a very positive experience, and it was heartening to read as I approached my due date (which, by the way, is this Friday, and I cannot begin to tell you how thrilled I am that this baby is on the outside rather than still hanging out in there; if I were still pregnant right now, I'd probably have lost use of all of my limbs and faculties, not to mention my sanity). 

As it turned out, we had an amazing time in the hospital, too.  Of course, having a private room was a central part of how fantastic it was; the two nights cost us something in the neighborhood of a stay in a suite at the Four Seasons, but it was worth every penny.  Joe got to stay overnight on a comfy bed and Felicity was in our room the entire time, except a few occasions when they whisked her away for tests and the like.  We had room service and a flat screen TV and a mini fridge stocked with water, soda and juice.  And most importantly, we had our privacy.  I know people do it all the time, but to me the hours and days after giving birth are not really a time for getting to know some stranger (and their baby and spouse and guests), not to mention that all the, uh, gore would make sharing a bathroom somewhat awkward. 

(The one thing we didn't have was decent towels; thankfully, I'd remembered to pack a towel but I had neglected to mention this to Joe, so he had to make do with those glorified napkins provided by the hospital). 

Doctors and nurses stopped by regularly to check on us, of course, and, to a one, they were incredibly kind, upbeat and attentive.  Each of them congratulated us with total sincerity and told us how cute/beautiful/perfect Felicity was.  I never felt like anyone was rushed or stressed or dealing with loads of other patients, as I am sure they were.  It really seemed like they cared about us as individuals and as a family, which seems like something that should be a given in this context, but I feel like it's not based on plenty of other hospital stories I've heard.  I also thought it was cool that every doctor and every nurse that we saw was a woman -- not that I have anything against male medical practitioners, but for some reason this delighted me.

The nurse who took care of us during the days on Saturday and Sunday was so terrific that I stood there and sobbed when she said goodbye to us and gave us reassuring hugs as we were discharged.  She spent hours working with me on breastfeeding and showing us the ins and outs of infant care, and when I had specific issues (I wondered at one point if Felicity might be tongue-tied, as she would latch on but then just hang out instead of sucking), she had a pediatrician there in minutes to check Felicity out and answer my questions (verdict: not tongue-tied, just, you know, a few hours old; jeez, Mom).  She also doled out my good friends Motrin and Colace, two key elements in the post-birth experience.

The food was also phenomenal.  The morning after the birth was my first real meal in about 36 hours and Joe's first in more than a day, so we ordered an enormous spread from room service (another private room perk).  I figured it would be okay, maybe just a small notch above the usual hospital tray fare but nothing to write home about.  Instead, a dude in a suit wheeled in a cart with a linen tablecloth and real flatware and a bud vase, and there before us was a hotel-quality breakfast that we wolfed down in about ten seconds flat.  I had a yogurt-berry-granola parfait, a plate of crispy bacon that almost made me weep with joy, and a basket of muffins, croissants and whole grain toast that made the angels sing (and yes, I ate it ALL).  Joe had a fluffy omelet, breakfast potatoes, Canadian bacon, a parfait and a carafe of coffee big enough to caffeinate Detroit.  He said we should just go back to the hospital the next time we needed a vacation, and I had to agree.

That night, after a pleasant day of checkups and friends visiting and some waddling back and forth to the bathroom in a hospital gown, I ordered a cheeseburger and Joe had filet mignon (!).  That cheeseburger, along with the breakfast and the postpartum gummy bears, will remain in my heart forever as one of the tastiest meals I've ever had.  Just thinking of it now makes me tear up a little. 

That Saturday, by the way, was one of the stormiest days New York has had in months; the city was drenched with torrential rains and buffeted with 50+ mph winds.  Joe had predicted earlier in the week that Felicity was sure to be born that day, as we'd end up standing out on a corner getting soaked for God knows how long trying to hail a cab while I doubled over with contractions.  Thankfully, she has better timing than that, and getting a taxi to the hospital was a breeze on that dry, cool Friday morning; as a bonus, the weather was just fine when we went home Sunday afternoon. 

But that Saturday, as the rain pelleted against the window and the fog hung low over the skyline, our little family of three was warm and dry and cared for.

(We're kind of going out of order here; these are all pictures from those first two days in the hospital.  I'm in a STATE over the fact that she's already changed since then.)

The Birth of Felicity

On Friday, March 12, I woke up at 3:33 AM and thought, "I wish I were in labor right now." 

I hauled myself out of bed to pee, and felt a small gush.  When I went to the bathroom, I assessed the situation and decided that I couldn't be certain what it was, so I changed my pants and got back in bed. 

Joe heard me rummaging through my drawer and asked if I was ok.  I told him my water might have broken, but I really couldn't tell so I was going back to sleep.  When I laid down, I started to feel some slow, wave-like sensations in my abdomen, but I'd been having cramping for several weeks -- still, this felt different than Braxton-Hicks and I thought to myself, "I think am in labor."  I'd heard that if you were in labor, you'd know it, but I am one to question even my most overwhelming of instincts.  Mostly I didn't want to get my hopes up, because by this point I was rather desperate not to be pregnant any more, given my janky hip/back that made me walk like someone with one leg about a foot longer than the other and my generally dire excitement about meeting our baby. 

My doctor had told me two days before, when she found that I was 2.5-3cm and 60-70% effaced, that she gave me a 50-50 chance of making it to my next office appointment, which was the following Monday (the 15th).  I had taken that as a personal challenge and spent the rest of Wednesday and Thursday walking all over creation to encourage the labor party to get started.  And yet, somehow it hadn't sunk in that this really was probably IT.

We woke up again around 6:30, and when I crane-lifted myself to a standing position, there was an unmistakable WHOOSH that continued when I went to the bathroom.  I told Joe that, uh, that was definitely my water breaking, and I called my doctor's answering service.  The on-call OB got back to me a few minutes later and said, "It's time for you to head into Labor and Delivery." 

Suddenly I had that Christmas morning feeling, because we were going to have a BABY in the next 24 hours, no matter what.  Joe showered and threw some things in a bag while I shoved down a Balance Bar and some water.  I had packed my hospital bag a couple of weeks prior, but by this time I had no idea what was in it.  I tossed some toiletries on top of the clothes and sundries that were in there and we headed out to get a cab.

When we got to L&D triage, they took some blood and did some swabbing of my nethers and confirmed that my water had broken and that the fluid showed no signs of fetal distress.  The nurse put me on an IV drip of dextrose and told me that from then on I couldn't have anything but ice chips to eat or drink.  (Somehow, it seemed at the time that this might be the most challenging part of labor, and while adding hunger to the mess of sensations that were yet to come was not enjoyable, it was -- ha ha HA! -- by FAR the least of my worries a few hours later).  She also put a contraction monitor and a fetal heart rate monitor on my belly.  The baby was looking strong; her heart rate was consistent through the entirety of labor, which was a relief since I was prepared to panic at the first sign of any kind of problem. 

By this time, I had started having contractions, but they were very mild and fairly irregular.  A while later, after I'd been admitted, the nurse came and told me that they were probably going to put me on Pitocin to get things moving in a more labor-like direction.  We were soon wheeled into the L&D room, where a baby warmer was set up in the corner.  Joe and I looked at each other and were all, holy shit, this is really happening -- we're leaving this room as a family of THREE.

My doctor was not on call that day, so another OB from her office, Dr. S, came in to meet with us.  I'd seen her during the meet-and-greet rotations in my early third trimester, and thought she was really great.  She checked me and said I was still around 2-3cm and explained that, since my water had broken and the clock was ticking on us, she wanted to put me on Pitocin to get the contractions to be more regular and productive.  I said I was fine with that, so they hooked me up to another IV and I waited for things to get more intense.

By this time, our doula, Nicole, had arrived.  She and Joe and I chatted and bantered for a couple of hours, with nary a cleansing breath required on my part to get through any contractions.  Around noon, she and Joe had some lunch and I crunched some ice chips (and snuck a few bites of a bagel and sips of Gatorade when the nurse was out of the room -- naturally, I was nervous that the nurse would catch me and I would get in some kind of trouble, as if she'd send me to the hospital principal's office).  I decided to sit on the yoga ball to see if a different position would encourage things along.  Another couple of hours passed with me bouncing on the ball and stretching out my pelvis and the three of us talking and laughing. 

Finally, I started to have some contractions that made me stop yammering.  They still weren't super-painful; they mostly felt like someone was bear-hugging my lower abdomen -- more pressure than pain.  My lower back was also getting into the act, especially around my rear hipbones.  But it wasn't that bad, and I OH SO FOOLISHLY thought, "Maybe labor will not be that big of a deal.  After all, I'm tough and athletic!  Perhaps this will be one of those easy deliveries you hear about!" 

Let's all take a moment to shake our heads and look pityingly at my blind, dumb hubris.

Nicole came over to sit next to me and put counterpressure on my lower back.  She looked over at the machine that was dosing my Pitocin, and she sat thoughtfully for a minute and then said, "I've never seen someone on this much Pitocin who wasn't screaming and begging for mercy.  And you've been on it for HOURS now and you're barely reacting to the contractions.  This is really extraordinary." 

Well, we weren't so smug for very long. 

Somewhere around 4:00, things turned a corner.  I had gotten sick of the yoga ball so had climbed back onto the bed and shortly thereafter the contractions became much stronger, longer and more frequent.  I could no longer carry on a conversation and the deep breathing was not really enough to get me through the pain anymore.  Joe was pressing against my lower back to support the contractions and Nicole was encouraging my breathing, feeding me ice chips and wiping my forehead with a cool paper towel. 

As the pain intensified, I began to lose control and started making what can only be described as feral animal sounds.  It felt like the lower part of my body was being wrenched apart, and my lower back and butt area filled with this unbearable pressure.  I thought my body might actually explode.  Each time a contraction started I began to panic because I didn't think I could live through it.  I gripped Joe's and Nicole's hands with all my strength and screamed at the top of my lungs with each wave of pain.  I seem to recall screaming, "I CAN'T DO THIS" and "THERE'S SO MUCH PRESSURE" and "I'M GOING TO DIE." 

And then at one point around 6 or 6:30, in between contractions I apologized to Joe that he was missing dinner.  It seemed important at the time. 

Dr. S came in around this time and checked me.  Since I felt like I could have reached up inside my lady area and TURN MY BODY INSIDE OUT, I felt certain that I had progressed and was close to being able to push.  So I almost got up and walked out, washing my hands of the whole business, when she announced that I was STILL AT TWO TO THREE CENTIMETERS, ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?  In between ear-shattering howls, I told her that I needed the epidural, like, YESTERDAY, because I was not going to live much longer with this pain.  She said probably the epidural would make me dilate faster since my body would relax more and the baby would drop down more easily, and she told us the anesthesiologist would be in shortly.

Naturally, it took about half an hour for the doctor to arrive with the promise of sweet, sweet pain relief, and I continued to announce my agony to the world while we waited.  When she came in, the anesthesiologist said, "I heard you calling me from down the hall!"  HEH.  She tried to ask me some routine questions, but it was clear I was not in a state to converse in anything other than expletives and growls, so she hastily had me sign a consent form and went about the business of administering the epidural.  I screamed when they placed it as a bolt of fire shot down my left leg, but other than that it was no big deal -- my fear of having a giant needle shoved into my spine was totally eclipsed by the pain and the all-consuming desperation to make it stop.

During this part, Nicole stayed with me and Joe left, since they said only one "guest" could be in the room for the epidural placement.  Although he was being incredibly strong and helpful, I could tell by his face that Joe was having a really hard time seeing me in so much pain, so it was good for him to get out and breathe for a minute.  He told me later that he went and sat in the triage waiting room with his head in his hands. 

The doctors told me that it would take about 15 to 20 minutes for the epidural to kick in, so I howled through a bunch more contractions, hoping with each one that they would diminish even slightly.  Joe came back and one of the doctors said that soon I would have a smile on my face and might even be able to nap until it was time to push.

Yeah.  Well!

Twenty, then thirty, then still more minutes ticked by as I writhed in undiluted pain.  The anesthesiologist came back and topped off my epidural with three more vials of pain medicine.  She told me that my legs would be completely numb, which was something I'd been frightened of beforehand, but by now I would have taken a frying pan over the head rather than worry about such trifles.  My left leg began to tingle a bit, as if it were falling asleep, but other than that?  Nothing.  No relief, no smile, no bloomin' NAP, that's for damn sure. 

By now, I was certain that I couldn't do this, couldn't take another SECOND of this, and I let everyone know that at full volume.  Around 7:45 or so, another OB came in to check me as Dr. S had had to run down to the ER to deal with another patient.  I was terrified that I wouldn't have progressed much and I didn't think I had the strength to cope through many more contractions, let alone push the baby out.  I was also in abject fear that if I couldn't handle this part of the labor -- and since the epidural WAS NOT WORKING -- that the pain of delivery would actually kill me.  Nicole assured me that the pushing would be less intense than what I'd endured thus far, but I didn't believe her.

The OB told me that I was now -- wait for it -- NINE CENTIMETERS.  Everyone in the room -- nurse, OB, and two anesthesiologists -- was like, "OH!  No WONDER you're in so much pain! You went from two to nine centimeters in AN HOUR."  It seemed that the Pitocin had kicked in so swiftly and in such a delayed way that the epidural couldn't "catch up" with the change that my body was going through in such a short time.  Plus, someone mentioned (oh, NOW you tell me!) that epidurals can't really help with back labor.  Yippee.

In any event, they checked me to see that the epidural was placed properly by rubbing ice on my forehead, chest and belly and asking if it felt the same.  I think my answer was "I DON'T KNOW, JUST MAKE THIS STOP YOU BASTARDS."  Around this time, I also became extremely hot and couldn't stand for Nicole or Joe to even BREATHE on me, let alone touch me.  Nicole tried to put some essential oils under my nose as she'd done a couple of hours before, and I almost threw her across the room. 

The butt-exploding feeling got even more intense and I started shouting that I needed to push RIGHT NOW, RIGHTNOWRIGHTNOWRIGHTNOW, and the nurse and Nicole said I could if I felt like I had to as it would help the baby get into position. 

Just before 8:00, Dr. S came back in.  She examined me and said there was a tiny bit of cervix left but it was almost time to really start pushing.  Suddenly, the room exploded in activity as another nurse came in, Dr. S started suiting up in some kind of Hazmat baby-catching gear, the other nurse readied the baby warmer and pulled the bed apart to get the stirrups in place. 

Everyone helped get me into pushing position, with me holding both my legs (WHICH I COULD STILL FEEL) all spread-eagled and curling my upper body over my belly.  They told me to push into my butt like I was pooping and the doctor gave me some instructions about how to bring in a deep breath and then hold it while I pushed.  It seemed like a lot to ask me to do at once, especially with the contractions threatening to kill me every few seconds. 

The first couple of times I tried to push, I thought my face was going to fly off and hit the wall.  They said not to push with my face or my legs but to concentrate all my energy in my butt.  Then they'd tell me to breathe in with the next contraction, hold it and they yelled "PUSHPUSHPUSHPUSHPUSH" -- one nurse counted down from 10 each time and Nicole kept yelling, "IN THE BUTT!  IN THE BUTT!" which cracks me up (Joe just reminded me of that yesterday and every time I think of it I die laughing). 

Around this time, Dr. S said that it takes a lot of first-time moms up to THREE HOURS to push the baby out.  In a rare moment of calm, I looked her in the eyes and said, "That is not happening.  We are getting this baby out NOW." 

After just a few pushes, Dr. S asked Joe if he wanted to see the top of the baby's head.  He looked down and was like, "WHOA.  There it is!"  He kept holding my hand (I can't believe I didn't break his poor hand, by the way) and encouraging me, but his eyes were glued to the baby's head.  With each push, everyone kept saying she was getting closer, but then she seemed to get sort of stuck as she was pressing against my pubic bone.  The pushing, by the way, was like an athletic event and it was difficult to know if I was doing it exactly right, but strangely it didn't HURT all that much.  I just felt really exhausted after each one, like I wanted to go and lie down and be done with it.

Since the baby was kind of trapped against my pelvis, Dr. S did a small episiotomy (she told Joe to look away for that part and I kept saying, "I can feel it! I can feel it!" because the farking epidural?  STILL NOT WORKING) and with another push, the baby's head was out.  Joe told me later that the cord was wrapped around her neck, so Dr. S quickly clamped it and cut it (I remember Dr. S telling me not to push for a minute, but I was yelling, "I HAVE TOOOOO") and then with one final push at 8:36pm, SHOOP!  There she was! 

I felt this amazing release when she came out, and I think I kept saying, "Thank GOD, oh thank GOD it's over!  It's over!" and people were exclaiming all sorts of things and as they hefted this warm, gooey, cone-headed baby onto my chest, I heard a tiny cry and put my arms around our daughter.  I was crying, of course, but also laughing and babbling God knows what and Joe was next to me saying something and crying but all I could focus on was that warm weight and that mewling cry, because finally, finally our daughter had arrived.  

After a few minutes, the nurse took Felicity to wipe her off and weigh her in the baby warmer, and the doctor delivered the placenta (that thing was HEAVY; it felt like I could float to the ceiling once it and the baby were out) and then Dr. S had to go deal with another emergency so another doctor came in to stitch me up.  The stitching was quasi-painful even with a local anesthetic (and STILL I could feel everything below the waist, have I mentioned that?) but whatever, our BABY was HERE. 

And also, I COULD FINALLY EAT.  I asked Nicole to get me this bag of Haribo Gummy Bears from my bag and I sucked those bad boys down in about one second; they tasted SO GOOD.  It was one of the best food experiences of my LIFE. 

The nurse brought Felicity back to me and Nicole helped me breastfeed for the first time while Joe took about a thousand pictures (which are not suitable for public consumption).  Some more stuff happened that I don't really remember, but pretty soon we were told that someone was going to wheel me down to our postpartum room.  We'd asked for a private room when we got there that morning, but after the baby was delivered Joe went to check on the situation and they said there was nothing available.  But when they wheeled me out of the elevator, with our tiny baby girl in my lap, they took us to a sweet, sweet private room with a view of the city and the Hudson River.  The nurse helped me go to the bathroom and pee (uh...OUCH) and then helped me into bed.  She also helped me nurse Felicity some more and then got the baby swaddled and set up in her little plastic basinette next to my bed.  Joe and I contemplated dinner but decided to wolf down some energy bars and eat a real meal in the morning when room service was available. 

I knew I should sleep, but instead I stayed up and stared at our baby's perfect face all night long.  She was worth every minute of waiting, every day, week and month of agony during our failed adoption, every moment of discomfort in pregnancy and every bit of pain in labor.  She's worth everything, she was meant to be ours all along, and I can't imagine our life without her. 

Fade to Pink

Our baby went a bit orange on us, so she and I spent a fun-filled 24 hours or so in the NICU for phototherapy to lower her bilirubin levels.  Going back to the hospital definitely wasn't something we'd planned on, but it wasn't as terrible as it could have been, since they had a room with a cot and a shower so I could sleep between overnight feedings and I was able to keep nursing her on schedule (and as a bonus, one of the nighttime nurses was also a lactation consultant, and she taught me how to make Felicity a more efficient eater, which has made our lives much easier already).

See how she's sort of Oompah Loompah-like here?  (Yet still, let's be honest, exceedingly cute).

Despite the relative mildness of the whole situation, I will fully cop to having stood at her isolette sobbing when I first saw her in there with the wee shades on, glowing purple under the UV lights.  I felt like a giant ass, because as NICU situations go, a little jaundice is so not a big deal, and we only had to be there one night.  And as it was, Felicity looked like a HOSS next to all those tiny preemies (we were in the "Step-Down" room, which is for the babies who are soon to be discharged, but even so she was like Monster Baby in comparison). 

Nevertheless, we like our baby at home and easily within snuggling distance, especially since Grammie and Granddad came all this way to spend time with her.

I'm dying -- seriously DYING -- to write the damn birth story already.  I will try!  I'll get started on it!  Just as soon as I stop kissing this face long enough to type it out.

(Blessedly pink again, save for the orange stripe over her eyes from the shade thingies.)

Baby Gazing

I want to write the birth story before some kind of amnesia-inducing hormones come in and erase the abject horror of it (I may be overselling here), but there has been so little TIME.  Where do the hours go? 

In brief, we're doing well.  Yes, we're sleep-deprived, but it's tough to complain when this face is the culprit:

Felicity has used her air-raid siren cries -- truly, she could blow the doors off a small car with these lungs -- to let us know that she does not enjoy sponge baths, diaper changes, nudity of any kind (on her part, at least), having clothes put on or taken off, an insufficient swaddle, or anyone in a five-mile radius sleeping between the hours of 10pm and 5am.

She does eat pretty well, although she has this rather hilarious approach to nursing wherein she lets out a high-pitched squeal to let the neighborhood know she's ready for meal time, then does this ecstatic head-wagging/snuffling thing as she approaches the food source, then for no apparent reason shouts at top volume for about ten minutes while punching my boob and thrashing around, and finally settles in for the duration.  About half an hour later, she goes boneless in a milk stupor and sleeps it off for a few hours.

My parents are here, and thank God for that.  They've been doing everything we don't have the time or energy to do, and more.  I am getting a little panicky about how quickly our little household is going to fall to pieces when they leave on Monday.

Physically, by the way, I am feeling pretty good considering the high speed car wreck-level trauma that my body went through a mere five days ago.  I am looking forward to seeing this weird, deflated belly go down further (current size: approx. five months pregnant) and there is more recovery time needed in the undercarriage area, plus my back and hips feel like they were torn apart by wild animals and put back together all wrong -- but all things considered, I am pretty satisfied that I remain ambulatory.  Shew. 

So I'll be back soon, y'all.  Thanks for all of your heartfelt congratulations and well wishes.  I love the Internet.

(More pics on Flickr...)

Well! That Happened.

Have I got a story for y'all.

Felicity Jean was born on Friday, March 12, at 8:36 pm, weighing 7 lbs, 7 oz and 20 inches long.  She's pretty much the most perfect thing in the world, of course.  We think she has Joe's eyes and nose, my mouth, chin and head and hair of indeterminate color (it might be reddish?  maybe?).  Her lungs definitely work.

I'll post a birth story when the world isn't spinning from ridiculous, giddy new-parent love and janky hormones and post-labor pain/gore and total lack of sleep.  It's something else -- her arrival involved high doses of Pitocin and an epidural that came too late and, uh, didn't really work.  But a few huffs of her little head and all is forgiven, if not forgotten.

(OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS, THE EPIDURAL DID NOT WORK).

Flickr is being a pain in my butt, so this will have to do for now. 

You Might Be Sorry You Asked

A few of you asked about more details on Montessori, and I feel like it's the sort of thing that I'm probably going to describe very poorly and inexpertly, but I'll give it a shot.

The first and best thing I can do is tell you to check out this book.  It's well-written -- not pedantic in the least -- and filled with great, colorful photos, and it's chock-full of ways to implement Montessori methods at home.  And even if you're not into doing a whole "method" (it sounds so strict and rule-y to call it that, even though it's not), you'll find tons of great ideas of things to do with your kid at different ages and stages and ways to stimulate (ugh, I hate that word; it makes me think of electroshock) their growing minds and all that jazz.

And for an intro to Montessori theory and methods, my mom recommended this website, which encapsulates the basics nicely, although some of them come out sounding a little sterile. 

Some of the highlights, to sum up in my own rambling way, are that Montessori encourages self-sufficiency and independence, allows a child to learn at his/her own pace, promotes confidence by having children teach one another tasks that they've mastered, and combines practical life skills (from dressing oneself to sewing a button on to washing dishes, as Ris mentioned) with building blocks for language, reading, writing, math, science, etc (but in an abstract way -- like the mathy stuff doesn't involve sitting and doing time tables; it's more game- or puzzle-like and conceptual, where the child is learning complex ideas by doing something concrete and...child-appropriate, I guess).

A Montessori classroom usually is divided into sections for Practical Life, Sensorial and sometimes a third area such as Language.  (In my kindergarten, the sensorial part was carpeted and the practical life had a linoleum floor, so that's always how I think of it although of course not all rooms are like that.)  Everything is child-sized and child-friendly (low hooks for coats, etc) and the room is organized with open shelving, so that kids can choose whatever activity they want to do without adult help.  There are low tables and chairs as well as mats for the floor, so a child can put a mat on the floor and that will be his workspace, or he can sit at a table and work (and afterward, the child always puts his activity away, back on the shelf in its proper place, and rolls up the mat and puts it in the mat bin). 

There's also usually a reading corner or nook with low bookshelves and pillows on the floor.  Plus there's a circle or oval of tape on the floor of the classroom for "line time", which begins with a "line time" song and involves gathering the kids around the circle/oval to sing and have story time and sometimes to introduce a new "unit", like a theme week about Lunar New Year or Mexico or Thanksgiving (there's often an international bent to Montessori; kids spend a lot of time with maps and learn about other countries and cultures and stuff).

A lot of the activities are very methodical -- like there will be a tray with a bowl holding different-colored marbles and a couple of smaller bowls plus a spoon, and the child will use the spoon to sort the marbles into the smaller bowls by color (or a younger child would use her fingers if she's not spoon-ready yet).  Which sounds intensely boring, but it teaches, I don't know, a bunch of stuff at once, and you'd be amazed how absorbed a 3-year old can get in that.  There are lots of wooden blocks and natural-type materials, as opposed to things that light up and make noise. 

There are child-sized easels and sinks in the Practical Life area, and one of the activities is actually hand-washing, where the child takes a ceramic jug, fills it with water, brings it to a special little stand with a big bowl on it, pours the water in, washes her hands with soap, rinses them, dries them, then takes the bowl with the sudsy water and dumps it out in the sink, rinses it, dries it and returns it to the stand.  Again, this sounds ridiculous when I'm describing it (my kid's going to get something out of...hand-washing??) but it teaches motor skills and junk like that, I guess.  And the use of breakable materials is part of the theory that if you trust a child with those things (when they're ready, which is key of course -- you don't just hand a 2-year old a big glass pitcher and hope for the best), they'll be able to handle it and will treat it with the proper care.  And if the kid dumps the water all over the floor, the teacher might look over and say, "Whoops!  Looks like a bit of a spill.  The mop is over there!" and the kid will get the little child-sized mop and bucket and clean up the mess. 

(Does this sounds insufferable and boring?  I don't think I'm doing it justice, really.  And I hope you've gathered by now that I'm not one of those people who is going to try to get their kid to be the next Picasso or Earhart by age 2 -- I feel like when we delve into things like educational methods, it's easy for an outside observer to assume that the parent involved (i.e., me) is hell-bent on creating a superhuman child and is going to bring flash cards of Swahili to the delivery room to ensure an early multilingual start.  It just happens that Montessori is one area that I can get excitable about because I grew up with it and I think it -- and many other pedagogies -- have lots of great ideas to draw from both for parenting and schooling.  If...that makes any sense.  Nevertheless, I press on!)

ANYWAY, at home you can do all sorts of things to put these same theories into practice.  For infants, the "Amazing Child" book linked above recommends things that engage all of the baby's senses, like touching her cheek with different types of fabric or giving her different things to smell or putting her in front of a low mirror to look at herself (not exactly rocket science, I realize).  The book talks about giving the baby wooden toys and things made out of natural or natural-ish materials (or even just handing them household items -- the old wooden spoon and a pan type thing).  It's also big on taking the baby outside as much as possible, narrating what you see and introducing her to nature early on.  Actually, the narrating thing is big throughout -- starting from the very beginning, you talk to the baby about what you're doing and seeing and this helps with bonding, language development, yadda yadda.  Again, these are things people probably do anyway, so it sounds kind of obvious.

For older babies and toddlers, they recommend placing toys on low, open shelves (like in the classroom) so that she can retrieve what she wants (and put it back when she's done!).  Another idea is to put a bunch of random items of different shapes, sizes and textures from around the house and out in nature (a pasta grabber, a cotton ball, a smooth stone) in a canvas bag and have the child reach in and try to describe them or guess what they are or, if the child is pre-verbal, just to feel them and pull them out to see how the feel of something relates to what it looks like. 

As a kid gets older, you can involve him in things like food preparation (a child can cut up veggies for snack (not with, like, a Ginsu knife but with a child-friendly one on a child-sized cutting board while sitting at a table) or pour juice or spread peanut butter on celery) and housework (dusting, loading the dishwasher, setting the table, polishing silver) with the idea being that children want to do the "work" of adults and for them it is a type of play as well as being beneficial developmentally. 

Is this...making any sense at all?  I feel like I just described School and Parenting for the Anal-Retentive, and while Montessori does instill a certain level of care and concentration in a child, while also valuing neatness and order, it's all done very positively and in an upbeat way -- and there's plenty of creative stuff in there, too, and outdoor running-around time and all that good stuff; it's not like the kid doesn't get to be a kid, not at all.  It sounds sort of rigid or overly adult-like the way I'm writing this, but it's really not.  It's sort of like how a routine is freeing to a child, you know, like how children thrive with some sense of boundaries and predictability?  The structure of a Montessori classroom or environment is also freeing and encouraging like that. 

Personally, it's tough to say how much of who I am resulted from being brought up by a Montessori teacher and going to a Montessori kindergarten and how much was just who I was to start out with.  There's no question that I dig a routine, I tackle tasks methodically, I clean up after myself, I have a lot of curiosity about other cultures and travel, and so on.  All of these things could have been how I was born, but in any event I think they were really ingrained in me by Montessori. 

Regardless, It's kind of amazing to me how vividly I remember my years in Montessori kindergarten (which were, I think, just when I was four and five, although it's possible I started the school at three) -- I can picture EXACTLY what my classroom looked like, what I used to do there, where certain activities were located, how my favorite teacher wore her hair, what the carpet in the Sensorial area felt like, how it felt to roll up a mat when I was done with an activity, what the grass smelled like on the big lawn outside.  Not to mention that our school had a pony -- a PONY -- and a really great playground. 

Obviously, it had a huge impact on me at the time and still does, which is why I just wrote about 20 pages about it and can't wait to pass on what I learned to my own daughter.

On Eating for Two

If any of you live in the tri-state area and have been looking for fresh pineapple, don't bother.  It's all in my fridge.  Some people think pineapple can encourage labor (something about the bromelain in it, or...I don't really know), so I've bought approximately 500 pounds of it and have been eating a cup or two at each meal.  Spicy food is also in heavy rotation on our dinner menu, whether ordered in or made at home (the slow cooker is especially good for a good vindaloo or curry or Cajun-spiced something-or-other).  And I have walked a total of ten miles this weekend (no exaggeration), which is actually a doctor-recommended activity (among, ahem, other things) to help move things along in the baby delivery department. 

Basically, we're doing everything we can (short of ingesting castor or cod liver oil, which is where I draw the line, because:  GROSS) to help biology do its thing.  Of course we know that the baby's going to show up in her own time, but at the very least it's better than sitting here staring at the walls and crabbing for things to hurry UP already (though, truth be told, there is a little of that coming from my general direction as well). 

This brings me to Alyce's question about food cravings and eating habits during pregnancy.

At the very beginning of this bodily adventure, I had an unstoppable craving for cherries -- white ones, to be specific (at least, they're called white cherries, although they're a pleasing yellow and red).  I ate loads of cherries for a week or two -- and they had to be ice-cold -- and then that was over and I don't remember, other than a passing fancy here and there for cheese or avocado (there was definitely a cheese-heavy phase in the early second trimester), having any more Must-Have-Right-Now-Or-ELSE moments. 

Throughout, I have been HUNGRY, that's for sure, in the same way that I am always hungry when I'm running a lot.  It's the type of hunger where you're minding your own business and suddenly, WHAM!  If you don't eat something within five minutes, you feel like you're going to go into multiple system failure.  I've made it a habit to always have a protein bar or similar within arm's reach at all times, and I make sure to eat something every two hours to avoid the dreaded blood sugar plunge of doom.  And, by the way, for the first trimester or so, my senses of smell and taste were amped up a great deal, so everything I ate seemed like a revelation, like a FLAVOR EXPLOSION, if you will.  That subsided by midway through, which was in part a blessing (at least in the case of the superhuman smell, which made me aware of odors I would rather not know about) although I was a bit sad to lose that head-exploding awesomeness that accompanied every meal.

I'm the type of person who can happily eat the same things from day to day (except for dinner), so my breakfasts and lunches haven't varied much and aren't all that different from my pre-pregnancy routine.  When I get up, I take my prenatal vitamins, which I learned early on MUST be taken with food or there are Unpleasant Consequences; so right away, I drink some water and eat a Balance Bar to keep everything settled.  Then I'll do my daily exercise, whether it's a walk, the gym, the Shred, my prenatal workout or just some stretching and whatnot.  After that I'll have a banana and/or cereal bar to fuel me through my commute. 

When I get into the office, I have my Second Breakfast of a Greek yogurt, often with some cereal mixed in (for fiber -- I cannot stress the importance of fiber enough) and more water (I am virtually always toting around a 1-liter Evian bottle or my Camelbak; I'd say on average I must drink at LEAST five liters of water a day and that, my friends, is a lot of peeing). 

My midmorning snack is usually an apple, which I think is one of the greatest pregnancy foods in the world.  This fall, it was the Honeycrisp that rekindled my love for the humble apple -- again, it had to be really cold and REALLY crispy -- and now that they're out of season I have gone back to Granny Smiths, which have the perfect tang and crunch for my needs.  I credit apples for providing me with sufficient roughage to keep things, you know, in order in my digestive tract; thankfully, I haven't suffered some of the grosser side effects of pregnancy in that arena.  If you know what I mean.

That tides me over til lunch, which is usually something carb-y (PB&J on whole grain bread, instant oatmeal (so easy to throw in my bag for an office lunch), hummus on a whole wheat wrap, etc), plus a snack pack of cottage cheese, some baby carrots, maybe a string cheese, and another apple (sometimes with peanut butter -- I try to keep a little jar of Skippy in my desk for protein hits). 

Especially at this point, when my stomach is compressed to about the size of a dime, I can't eat that much at once unless I want to have heartburn so bad it makes my eyes water, so I'll stretch my lunch stuff out through the afternoon, which also wards off the vending machine snackies (although from time to time I'll still hit the machines if I've run out of lunch before 4 or 5pm -- usually I go for the Fig Newtons or a granola bar, although at times Cheez-Its are still ever so satsifying and a crumb cake or two may have made its way into my belly over the months). 

Dinner is where we have the most menu variety, especially since Christmas with the arrival of the slow cooker.  During the fall, we ate a TON of salads (our Big Salad usually consists of baby spinach, grape tomatoes, carrots, corn, peas, chickpeas, olives, feta, hearts of palm and balsamic vinaigrette), but in winter that's not so thrilling to come home to, so I just try to add veggies or a side salad to whatever warm and comfort-y thing we're having.  And we ALWAYS have dessert, whether it's brownies or ice cream sandwiches (the ones from Whole Foods are SO good) or some special thing I've whipped up over the weekend. 

(As a side note:  fruit is not a dessert in my book; it can be a COMPONENT of dessert, but not the dessert itself.  At least for adults; I do plan to dupe my child into thinking that fruit is a treat.  And then after she's in bed I'll bust out the brownies.  Bwah ha ha!  Oh, I kid.  Sort of.)

I'd say, in general, that pregnancy has made me a bit more conscientious about the nutritional properties of what I'm taking in, in the sense that, for example, I'll think to myself that I haven't had a leafy green veggie in a few days so I need to have a salad or heat up some frozen spinach to go with whatever main dish is on deck, and I've definitely amped up my dairy intake to kowtow to the baby's calcium requirements.  

The thing is, I haven't really FELT like eating much junk food (even the relatively healthy stuff I'd eat before, like pretzels or Wheat Thins); for a while toward the beginning I was definitely putting away a lot of starchy foods, including snacks, which seemed to help keep The Yuck at bay, but once I was past that stage (and after the doctor eyebrow-raised at my early weight gain), I found that I really only WANTED to eat veggies and fruit and lean protein and dairy (and, yes, protein/energy bars, which are something of a crutch but awfully convenient and do keep me full for a decent amount of time between meals).  But I also haven't stopped my long-standing habit of treating myself on a regular basis (everything in moderation, etc).  Plus the stuff I cook for dinner isn't chosen for being light by any means (see:  Pioneer Woman's meatloaf, OH MY GOD) but more for flavor, variety, balance, blah blah blah. 

Really, on the whole -- aside from the verboten foods that I've had to forego, like tasty, tasty medium-rare cheeseburgers (which will be my first meal when we come home from the hospital, I'm telling you right now) -- my eating habits are pretty darn close to what they were before.  I think I became a more conscious eater when I started distance running years ago, and while I've never been one to subsist on flaxseed and agave nectar (not that there's anything wrong with those things, but you know what I'm saying), I've always been reasonably aware of food choices, so pregnancy probably took that up a notch but wasn't a sea change for me.

My GOD, did I really just spend that much time and space on my day-to-day eating habits?  Sorry, Alyce, that was probably way more than you wanted to know! 

We'll wrap up with 36- and 37-week belly shots.  The latter was taken with my shirt down because I think the unclothed belly is starting to push the bounds of decency.  Or, I don't, know perhaps the contrast actually helps you see it better.  Something. 

Next up: your Montessori questions, answered!  And coming soon, a Lawyerish guide to New York City.

Next Steps

Somewhere along the way, things turned a corner and I am now incapable of walking like a normal human being.  Instead, I shuffle, I lurch, I waddle, I stagger.  I clutch the railings and two-foot each stair on my descent into the subway stations.  It looks like I am walking with my shoelaces tied together and/or am suffering from dire intestinal misfortune.

In part, it's the sciatica, which continues to send searing pain down my leg at unpredictable intervals; but it's also the density and protrusion of the belly, which my relatively narrow hips are no longer able to accommodate or compensate for.  This results in my joints being compressed and restricted, which in turn causes my zombie/Frankenstein/invalid-style gait.  I can assure you, it's extremely attractive.  Passersby and fellow commuters look at me with a mixture of pity and horror, as if to say, "Gosh, you look so uncomfortable, you poor thing -- just please don't have your baby on my foot." 

And yet, my doctor says that the baby is normal-sized and that my belly is "small" (God bless her).  My weight has plateaued, and thus far I have avoided the dreaded cankle.  I've also started slowly progressing toward physical signs of the baby's arrival:  when walking around -- and sometimes just while sitting down -- I get irregular, yet unmistakable, contractions and, thanks to the wonders of the internal exam, we now know that there is dilation and effacement happening in places people don't talk about at parties.  Believe me, we are doing everything we can to encourage these things to continue.  I am not above trying every old wives' tale in the book to get this kid moving toward the light.

As for my homework assignments, next I shall tackle Alyce and Debbie in the UK's questions about post-baby plans vis-a-vis child care and, further down the line, preschools. 

I am fortunate to have an employer with a generous parental leave policy (relatively speaking -- it's not, like, Denmark- or Canada-level generous, but for the US it's about as good as you can get), so I will be able to take several months off after the baby is born. 

My goals for maternity leave are fairly modest -- shower on what I hope is a daily basis, meet up with friends for coffee and walks in the park with our infants, answer emails and phone calls within a reasonable amount of time, get back to running (I have some 4-milers and 10Ks on the calendar for May and June, which I think won't be TOO ambitious), take a handful of those geeky "mommy and me" classes (which are clearly more for mommy since the baby will be not much more interactive than a loaf of bread for a good while), keep the baby alive, that sort of thing. 

I honestly have no idea whether I will take to being at home with the baby like a fish to water, or if I'm going to be chewing the walls after a few weeks.  I think it helps that we're in the city, and the weather will (eventually) be nice during my leave, so getting out of the house won't involve all that much agita -- I can walk around Central Park or to a museum or cafe or library whenever I need air or want to feel connected to the outside world, and I have friends in the neighborhood to keep me company.  Admittedly, it may take me a while to get used to toting around a BABY and all her accoutrements when I pop out to the corner Duane Reade, but I'm hoping I will be able to make it happen without everything being a huge production.  Anyway, I am curious to see what my reaction is to the whole thing, since it's such a change from my daily routine now.

Once my leave is up, I plan to go back to work.  A reduced schedule may be an option -- like four days a week in the office instead of five.  That's something I'll have to figure out with my higher-ups, and what will happen will depend on a number of factors outside of my control right now.   

At that point, it appears that we'll be hiring a nanny.  Especially when I'm transitioning back to a work routine, it seems like daycare would build a lot more stress into our day than it would take away because of the schedules of the providers near us.  Each morning, Joe or I would have to get ourselves AND the baby ready and out the door by 7:30 to drop her off.  On the back end, one of us would have to be at the daycare by 6pm on the dot to pick her up, which may not be realistic every single day, and then there would be the wild tear of getting the baby home, walking the dog, feeding the baby, feeding the dog, feeding ourselves, doing a bedtime routine, and collapsing onto the couch.  It sounds very harried to me and not ideal for any of us.

On the other hand, I've always been a little skittish of the whole nanny situation.  Not because I think that there is no one on earth who can properly care for my preshus baybee, but because it weirds me out to be An Employer and in many ways it's just foreign to me because it wasn't something I grew up with or around. 

Mainly, I fret about how uncomfortable it might be to give someone direction about how I want things done, or to correct them if they're doing something I'd rather they didn't, or to deal with pay issues and negotiations.  Of course, we've done these things with our dog walker and our dog sitter and haven't had any problems and in fact -- although we've had some clunkers in the past -- we have found really wonderful people whom we trust completely with Miles.  Not that a dog walker is QUITE the same as a nanny, but you know what I mean.  So it's fairly likely that I am blowing these things out of proportion in my mind simply because they're unfamiliar.  The fact is, most parents I know who have sitters or nannies have wonderfully positive working relationships with them, so the little things that crop up from time to time are not that big of a deal.

Down the road, when our kid hits two years old, we'll be entering the fray of the preschool world, which in this city is not all that different from the college application process.  We've given it some thought, but haven't exhaustively researched the issue since we have a fair amount of time.  Since I was Montessori-educated (and my mom taught Montessori for 25 years), I have a preference for that philosophy; but I'm open to learning about other methods and pedagogies and seeing what works for our child, so we'll probably apply to a wide swath of programs to ensure that we have options (or at least, uh, ONE option, at the end of the day).  That said, as dorky as it sounds, I plan to use a lot of Montessori methods at home so she'll be getting that influence one way or another.

Of course, any or all of these plans may change given all sorts of different possible circumstances and based on how Joe and I feel about things as we go.  I want to keep an open mind in all directions while staying realistic about what our needs are as a family and being cognizant of what works best for us.  And all that jazz.

(Belly picture for 36 weeks next time!)