Five Months

Hopefully I'll get back to four months and what she was doing then but for now... Amelie just rolled over for the first time yesterday!

Clearly she's very proud of herself.

In other news... she's 25 inches long (48%) and weighs 13 pounds, 4 ounces (18%). It confounds me that her weight percentile isn't higher because she's all dimply delicious rolls.

Her personality is delicious too. She likes to give suck on my nose, and "talks" all the time -- we've moved on to consonants in the last few days, so I'm hearing lots of "ba ba ba" as well as raspberries. She grins and chortles at everyone. Clearly the extrovert in the family.

Sleep has gotten better since we came back home but we are still working to eliminate a night feeding. Last night she went without but before that, it had been a few days since she hadn't nursed once during the night. So I'm trying to just nurse for three minutes or so on those occasions I can't mollify her with the pacifier or a move to the RNP. Because, oh yes, she's sleeping in the crib now! Well, mostly. Until she won't stop squawking during the night. Then she goes back to the RNP.

The toys are courtesy of her big sister -- obviously she can't do much playing while swaddled.
And I guess I have to stop swaddling her now that she's rolling... sigh. She likes to pull
her pacifier out and then cry in frustration if I leave her hands out.

The question now is when to move her to Calliope's room. Calliope is eager to have her company but I'm nervous about the kids waking each other up, especially in the early mornings. And it might be nice to have a few minutes alone with Amelie in the morning to nurse and cuddle before I get Calliope up and out the door with me (leaving Amelie behind with the nanny, sniff.)

I have just a couple more days with my delectable girl and then I go back to work as of next Tuesday. I know the transition wasn't as bad as I feared with baby Calliope, so I assume it won't be this time either but... I left Amelie at Calliope's daycare yesterday for a few hours so I could take Calliope to the pool and I was practically hyperventilating by the end. Only to get to daycare and find her fast asleep. Apparently she didn't cry the whole time. Until she got woken up to come home with me -- then she screamed bloody murder, a very rare event for my easy going girl.

She's still breastfeeding exclusively but I tipped a couple drops of corn chowder into her mouth the other night (just the milky part, no solids) -- she seemed curious but not enthusiastic. And a few days before that she used a strip of bell pepper as a teething toy, which she enjoyed but didn't consume (not surprising, without teeth). I'm not looking forward to adding solid foods to the routine. It's just one more chore!

Curiously gumming yellow pepper

That fuzzy head! Especially fun after having a rather bald baby the first time around.

Big eyed baby

Birth Story: The Long Version

Thanks to Emily for reminding me to get back to this. I'm typing without editing because I can barely remember parts of this anymore. Luckily I wrote out pages and pages of notes while in the hospital; that lovely day between arrival and departure when I didn't have visitors until the end of the day and just cuddled with my new baby. <swoon>

3/19/15, 11 pm
I'm reading in bed, too late (The Interestings -- a page turner!) when Tree Leaf kicks me hard and painfully -- a first. I feel a little trickle a couple seconds later. At first I think it's discharge, then I wonder if I'm peeing, then I hop out of bed and stand on the (small, washable) rug next to my bed and what feels like gallons of water pours out of me.

It just keeps coming and coming. I say, out loud, "Oh my god." I try squeezing my bladder muscles experimentally but nothing changes -- the fluid keeps coming. Eventually it pauses and I dash to the bathroom with my phone. I peel off my sodden pants, socks and underwear and perch on the toilet to call Chris, my midwife.

I had seen Chris for my weekly appointment just a few hours earlier. She had stripped my membranes at my request  but said she guessed I would go into labor sometime after my due date (I was currently 38w6d), since I had gone late with Calliope (induced at 41w2d), and planned to strip my membranes again at subsequent appointments. At my appointment that day, I was 1 cm dilated and 2/3 effaced, I think. Same as the previous week, though my cervix was had moved from posterior to anterior in that week.)

But instead... here I was, dripping in the bathroom. I was pretty sure, though, that it had been that violent kick from Tree Leaf that got things started and not the membrane stripping.

I called Chris and said shakily, "I think my water just broke." Even though I hadn't peed more than a tablespoon at a time in months, I was too afraid to call it amniotic fluid definitively. Not that I really thought I had just peed a gallon.

Chris said "really?" in warmly surprised tone. She suggested we stay in close touch and that I plan to meet her at her office sometime the next day for a sterile speculum exam, just to confirm that it was definitely amniotic fluid, though she didn't seem to have many doubts and neither did I. I don't remember her suggesting that I might start having contractions, though surely she must have? I remember dumbly asking if I would be missing work tomorrow, whether in labor or not. (She kindly said yes, and laughed.) My mind was still reeling from the shock of this unexpected development. I mean, I figured one way or another, I was definitely having a baby in the next day or two. Wild.

Next I called my sister in Rhode Island. She said she was too tired to make the drive that night but would set her alarm for 6:30 am and we would talk then. While we were still on the phone, my body started shivering uncontrollably. The phone kept chattering in my hand against my earring, no doubt making a racket for my sister. She kindly consulted Dr. Google and confirmed that this was a normal reaction to having one's water break.

After that, I called Salt Lick and we agreed that she would travel 90 minutes via subway to come over right away -- both of us would sleep better knowing that she was already here. (I think she ended up taking a cab.) I also called my doula at some point. She said she would sleep, and wait to hear from me again.

Finally I got off the phone and into a blissfuly hot shower. I think I had my first contraction contraction while in the shower. Not too bad.

I finally got out, dried off and dressed, and went to my computer. My mind was racing a hundred different directions as I rescheduled my grocery delivery from Saturday (two days away) to Tuesday and sent an email to our playgroup alerting them to a possible last minute change in location. I also emailed my boss to alert him that I would be out, alerted my temporary replacement that she had an updated start date!, and sent an apologetic email to my departing medical director that I wouldn't be able to make her farewell party the next day. I also wrote a note to Calliope, just in case I needed to leave before she woke up.

She had been asking for months when our baby would come and I always answered "she will come in the spring."

I had just finished the work at my desk when Salt Lick arrived. I chatted with her a few minutes then retired to my room to let her nap on the couch while I attempted to rest as per my doula's advice.

It's hard to remember but according to my contraction timing app, I started having contractions in earnest at about midnight, one hour after my water broke. At first they were every 5-10 minutes, lasting about 30 seconds. They were manageable, especially once I finally got my Hypnobabies tracks playing -- focusing on them helped remarkably well. I managed to doze in between contractions at times. The only hard thing about that was waking up in the midst of increasingly intense contractions was startling and unpleasant.

The frequency remained frustratingly inconsistent, ranging from every 4-9 minutes, despite the intensity continuing to increase. Or was it just that using the contractions time app versus an old fashioned watch makes the contractions seem more inconsistent?

Shortly after labor started, I stopped feeling the baby move. Chris told me to drink some juice but I didn't realize that watered down Vitamin Water didn't qualify as juice. When she finally realized my mistake, she firmly told me to drink some actual juice. Oops. I found some painfully sweet Shabbat grape juice in the fridge and gaggingly chugged eight ounces. I was on the phone with Chris at 3 am, making plans to meet at the hospital for monitoring, when finally, the baby kicked. Phew. Crisis averted. Back to laboring at home.

By about 4 am, I think, I couldn't lie down anymore -- too painful -- but sitting cross legged was okay. It seemed like I went to the bathroom after nearly every other contraction -- having anything in my bladder set off another contraction. But sitting on the toilet also triggered contractions, and made them even more intense -- a frustrating conundrum.

I called my doula and Chris by about 5:30 am, really done with laboring at home. Whatever the spacing was, and whether the frequency was regular or not, the pain was intense -- I needed to get to the hospital before it got any worse. I started thinking seriously about getting an epidural.

I also called my friend Amy, who lives two blocks away (we share a nanny) and asked her to come to my apartment by 6:30 am in order to definitely be there when Calliope woke up, even if I was still there. But only fifteen minutes later, Calliope woke up crying. She never wakes up that early (5:45) -- and she asked to sleep with me -- something she never asks. I wondered if she could sense the intense energy in the air, even while she was sleeping (she had white noise in her room and I was in my room with the door closed, so I knew she didn't hear anything).

Anyway, I went to her as soon as one contraction ended and did a pretty good job of acting sleepily normal as I kissed her reassuringly and firmly told her to go back to sleep... before rushing back to my room to prepare for the next contraction. As soon as it was over, I texted Amy and then called Chris again. She was on call for the birthing center and needed to call the hospital to prepare them for my arrival before we could leave, so I had to wait. I think I was now having contractions every 3-4 minutes, with intensity that was getting hard to manage.

Chris called back just a few minutes later, sooner than I expected, ready to meet us at the hospital. Then Amy arrived, and Calliope started to cry, so Amy went to her and kept her busy in her room, packing a bag (one of my child's favorite activities). All we needed to do was get the copy of my medical chart that Chris had given me the previous day, and put it in my bag. But we couldn't find it. And my contractions were so intense that I couldn't think straight. I think we spent a lot of time trying to figure out where it was (turns out it was in the bouncy seat, just a few feet from my hospital bag and hidden by a rack of clean clothes hung to dry the previous day by the cleaning lady).

Finally we abandoned hope of finding the chart, even though it was still really bugging me. Getting ready to leave was slow and torturous because at this point, I was in pain even between the contractions, which were all too frequent. I was really scared to have one in the lobby of my apartment building.

Amy quickly brought in Calliope to say goodbye to me, then left her with the nanny (who had apparently just arrived) to help us get downstairs.

Around 7:15, we slowly went downstairs in the elevator. A cab had been waiting for us for ages -- he had been pacified with promises of extra money for his time spent waiting. Amy helped carry the bags. As we were loading the car -- or rather, they were loading as I stood there -- Emily and Annabelle (SMC friend and her six year old daughter) came running over to say hello, clearly excited to see us (I had texted Emily the night before to let her know about my water breaking). I could barely muster up a "hello"for them now.

I carried my quilted "chux" pad to sit on in the cab. Thank goodness the doula had told me to buy "Depends" in advance -- I hadn't felt any any fluid leaking in a while but it picked up again in the cab.

The car ride was painful but mercifully short. It seemed like we hit every pot hole along the way. I kept my eyes closed most of the time but texted the doula that we were on the way (she was frustratingly unwilling to come earlier, and said she would meet us at the hospital). I also texted Chris to ask "can we expedite the epidural?" (I was thinking it would be fabulous if the anesthesiologist could meet us curbside.) She called me and explained that, no, we had to go through triage to confirm that I was at least 4 cm dilated (otherwise I wouldn't get a room and would have to walk the halls) and she had to do a sterile speculum exam to confirm that my water had broken. And then I'd need to do 20-30 minutes of tracings on the fetal/contraction monitor in triage. After that, I would get my own room, then vital signs and blood draws and a half a bag of IV fluid and only then could I get my epidural.

We arrived at the hospital shortly thereafter. I was scared of having a contraction in the lobby but desperate for the epidural, now, so I think I shuffled along pretty efficiently. Though I did have to stop once in the hallway for a contraction. I gripped the wooden handrail along the wall and tried not to moan. As soon as Chris saw me in the hallway she said, "oh yeah, we are getting a room." Thank god. I couldn't bear the thought of being told I wouldn't get a room of my own.

I felt lots of amniotic fluid leaking out, both in the cab and in the hospital hallway now, and was worried my Depends would overflow so Chris sent her wonderful midwifery student, Emily, with me to wait outside the bathroom for me. I had not one but two miserable contractions in the bathroom. I tried to moan quietly but barely resisted crying out to her -- I don't know why I refrained. As it was, I dropped my coat in the middle of the bathroom floor for her to pick up -- afraid of any unnecessary movement triggering yet another contraction.

We went into the triage room -- Chris, Emily, and I -- the doula (who finally appeared) and SL had to wait outside. I bent over the counter in the triage room with the next contraction and cried out, "oh, my back!" -- the pain was suddenly fierce in my back. Emily came to my rescue and pushed strongly on my hips for blessed relief.

The nurse was impatient to get me on the monitor but the thought of lying on that narrow hard bed seemed impossibly intimidating. Emily promised me that I could stand or sit next to the table for the monitoring and she would crouch under me, if necessary, to keep the monitor pressed to my stomach. Someone (Emily?) helped me step into the too-tight band of material that stretched over my belly as I shucked my clothes off and onto the floor.

Chris wanted to do the vaginal exam now and needed me to lie down on the table. That seemed totally impossible to me, too, but Chris was insistent that I had to do this before I could get my room and thus my epidural. So after the next contraction, still in pain, I somehow climbed onto the exam table.

Chris inserted the speculum mercifully quickly and painlessly and confirmed the presence of amniotic fluid. Then she removed it and said she would keep her gloved hand inside me for the next contraction. That sounded like a terrible idea, but apparently it wasn't optional. Then she announced that I was seven cm dilated! Hooray!

Emily continued pressing on my back with every contraction, which was amazing. I remember sitting on the end of the exam table for one contraction and Emily instructing me to hug Chris, who stood in front of me, while Emily stayed behind me to push on my back. It felt a little funny to hug Chris, because I think of that as something a labor support person is supposed to do, not a midwife, but it felt amazing, too -- so supportive.

Then they let SL into the room, to bring me my Hypnobabies, perhaps? and Emily told me to hug SL while Emily continued to press on my back. I was scared I would knock SL over as I draped myself over her tiny frame but she held up well.

Then the nurse announced she had a room ready for me and I immediately abandoned all my people and my belongings (except my precious Hypnobabies, playing on my Kindle), fixated solely on getting to my room and getting my epidural as I shuffled determinedly down the hall behind the nurse who waited patiently.

Then I was on the bed and the pain in my back was so cruel and punishing and someone was pushing on my back -- first Emily, then my doula, who reappeared mysteriously at some point. The nurse said again, rather impatiently, that I had to have my blood drawn and IV fluids started before I could get my epidural, so I clung blindly to the bed rail with my eyes squeezed shut and stuck out my right arm.

She got the bloods drawn and started the IV fluid and I guess Chris stepped out of the room then to go to a computer to start officially admitting me to the hospital. I think just a couple of minutes later the pain seemed like it was maybe dying down when suddenly I screamed and found myself pushing.

Chris was suddenly there again (apparently the nurse quickly left the room and went to Chris in the hallway and said "you'd better come" and when she came in, Emily mouthed "she's pushing" and Chris mouthed back, "good" -- Chris told me this later). Then Chris checked my cervix but told me she wanted to keep her hand inside for the next contraction. That sounded awful and I think I begged again for my epidural. But she insisted. And someone said, "it's too late for an epidural." And I wailed "No! I want my epidural!"

After that, Chris came to my beloved bed rail, which I still clung to like a life raft, and told me it was indeed too late for an epidural. I cried, "No! I want my epidural! Please, Chris! Help me!" I was heartbroken. The pain was so fierce. But there was no changing her mind.

Finally I gave in to the futility of arguing and decided that if I couldn't get an epidural, the only thing left was to get this over. So I pushed as hard as I possibly could when the urge came again.

I'm not sure exactly how long I pushed, a little less than 20 minutes, i think, but it felt like only a few contractions. It's only been a few days but already the memories have faded. At one point, early in pushing, I said, "I want my sister!" but I knew she was en route and wouldn't make it in time for the birth. I was thinking of my mother, wishing for her, too, but knowing she definitely wouldn't be there -- she died about a month before this conception.

I remember the awful feeling of the head in the birth canal -- it felt like she was crowning already, though she wasn't -- and screaming "get it out! get it out!" but Emily gently told me to feel the head myself and was still inside me. Dammit.

I think with the next push Emily said she could see hair. Chris told me that Emily would deliver the baby. They were at the end of the bed together. Then I think there was one more enormous push and it was burning and I was writhing and twisting my hips up off the bed and was I screaming on the outside or only on the inside? I dimly saw SL beyond the end of the bed and was glad she was out of harm's way, far from the carnage. Chris and Emily told me to lower my hips back to the bed. I wanted to know if the head was out yet.

Emily told me to push little pushes with the next contraction. It seemed like there was a little break, then, because I waited a minute then asked, "Wait, one big push, or little pushes?" She again said little pushes. The next thing I remember was the feeling of the body slithering out of me. Thank god. Relief. I could feel the umbilical cord still inside me and it bothered me but still, it was so much better.

Someone -- Emily? -- immediately laid this pink baby on my chest as someone else pushed my gown out of the way. There was no question of doing skin to skin care, and I dimly noticed and appreciated that.

SL appeared at my side and was flushed pink and sobbing as I stared wonderingly at the pink baby. A baby??? Wow. There really was a baby in there. Huh.

I was just so glad that the hard part was over. I didn't feel much about the baby beyond surprise -- with the very slow and uncertain start to the pregnancy, plus it being so close to my mother's death, I guess I was always scared to believe that there would someday be a baby -- so I was glad SL was crying. At least someone was emotional. We called my sister on the phone and I held the phone up to the crying newborn so she would know the news. I didn't get emotional until J arrived and I told her the baby's name, Amelie, for our mother Amy (named for her grandfather, Emil, so a lovely sort of symmetry).

It took a while to get my bleeding under control after the baby was born. The nurse kept pressing painfully, forcefully on my stomach to try to get my uterus to contract to stop the bleeding but instead, with each press, I could feel blood spurt out. Chris inserted a suppository to help with bleeding then said grimly, "I have to feel inside your uterus to make sure there's nothing left [that is causing you to bleed]. This will hurt." That sounded terrifying -- I couldn't imagine a hand inside a body cavity of mine -- so I moved to hand the baby over but Emily waved her away. So the baby stayed on my chest as I focused on my Hypnobabies techniques and magically, the exam didn't hurt, thank goodness, just felt like lots of pressure. Eventually the bleeding diminished.

The bed was beautifully soft and cozy, though I needed to be draped with tons of towels and blankets and sheets because I couldn't stop shivering. I thought I might just never get up again. But an hour later I was ready to use the bathroom and was shocked to find I could stand up and hobble to the bathroom without much assistance. What a difference from my last birth -- four hours of pushing, an epidural, an episiotomy, tons of stitches for a second degree tear and a gigantic postpartum hemorrhage that left me profoundly dizzy and anemic. Versus no epidural, no stitches, no tearing, twenty minutes of pushing and considerably less blood loss (more than normal but technically not quite a postpartum hemorrhage, and certainly not a severe one).

Post script, written at nearly 5 months:

That day of Amelie's birth, I announced to Chris, "I'm never doing that again," but two weeks later I sat in her office and confessed I wished I could do it again! As intense as it was, it was awesome, in the true sense of the word.

Thankfully, that desire has mostly faded again. My family feels complete. It didn't happen overnight, but I'm now completely in love with my little girl. The copious dark hair mostly fell out (everywhere except the nape of her neck) and has been replaced my fawn colored fuzz, and her newborn squints have been replaced by frequent grins and chortles of glee. Her tiny limbs have filled out and everywhere she has delicious rolls and dimples. Truly, I wouldn't change anything about my labor experience. Well, except for having my mom there to meet her namesake. Other than that, it was perfect.

Working on Me

We are back at home after four weeks on the road, and it's mostly lovely to be home. It's fantastic to sleep in my own amazing bed again. But living in my brother's big house makes me yearn for an actual house some day. Or really, just a bit more space -- a bedroom for each girl and common areas big enough that they don't need to be spotless to feel uncrowded.

It's late and I have so much to share so for tonight, just the news about me: I am (as always) a work in progress.

A few days before we went away, I decided to stop eating refined sugars. I've always been completely anti-diets, because they never make me lose weight and I get obsessed and unhappy. But I've been worried about my risk of developing type two diabetes for a while -- my hemoglobin A1C (which measures blood sugar over three months) was too close to pre diabetic levels for me to be happy the last time it was checked, pre-pregnancy. I couldn't really worry about it while pregnant and feeling sick so often (and not gaining weight), but now that I have my two amazing children, I'm more aware of my mortality. I want to stick around for a long, long time.

So it has been hard at times, but I gave up sugar. I remember reading on another blog (Runs for Cookies) that the author said the deal with motivation is that it's not about motivation. Motivation can wane. You have to just decide. So I did it. I just decided. In part, inspired by my friend Barbara who lost 68 pounds.

It's now been five weeks without sweets. Amazing, for me, at least! I really am surprised that I have been able to do it.

I had a small loophole for dark chocolate, which I love and which is supposed to have some health benefits. But I found I was eating more and more of it to compensate for cutting out sugar. So a week ago, I cut that out as well. And added a little decaf coffee (with cream) to make up for the missing caffeine that very dark chocolate adds to my life.

Success there as well!

No real change in weight but that is no surprise -- my body likes this weight, even if my brain wishes I was a touch smaller. Oh well.

I'm also doing physical therapy to strengthen my transversus abdomens (deep stomach muscles) because I have a separation in my abdominus rectus (another set of abdominal muscles). This entails doing tons of strengthening exercises plus focusing on sitting and standing up straight. It's a lot of work and slow going but I'm motivated since I realized my stiff back is due to stomach weakness... and since I realized that I am tipped forward like an old lady, and will remain like that if I don't do that work. But I am starting to see some small improvements in my posture, and it's getting a little easier to sit up straight, so that's encouraging.

Now to get myself to bed... another goal I'm working on, being more rested.

Seventeen Weeks... A Long Post on Life in Woodstock

We’ve been in Woodstock, NY for almost a week now. My SMC/summer camp/downstairs neighbor friend grew up here, and her parents have a little guest cottage. So Emily and her seven year old AB are staying with her parents in the main house and my girls and I are camped out in the guest cottage. 

It’s mostly been lovely. The cottage is tiny and covered with dusty bric a brac — and I have pet peeves about dust, bric a brac and a lack of clear spaces — and I’m sore every night from the pressure on my hips from sleeping on a worn futon. And I’m scared to cook on the tiny gas stove (never mind the tinier coal stove!). But the grounds are gorgeous. We’ve cooked a couple of times on a stone fireplace of sorts set under a gorgeous tree outside, with views of the mountains. 

The woman who built this house, Henriette (I’m not sure of the spelling but it’s pronounced “Ahn-ree-ette”) was 4’9”. She lived here part time into her 90s. She had it built to her specifications, so the doorways are low and the showerhead is low and the bathtub is short… but it’s all quite charming. There’s a window over the bathtub that I just love.

My friend’s parents own several acres so there’s space to roam, and lots of benches and tree swings scattered around. 

And something about having me and my girls, just us, in this tiny space… it makes me feel like a family. A complete, whole family. 

Calliope has been going to day camp here along with my friend’s seven year old at a local private school. Calliope was disappointed to realize they wouldn’t be in the same group. Today, Friday, there was an all camp gathering so the kids could perform for each other and for the parents. When we arrived for the performance, I was pleasantly surprised to see Calliope snuggled into the lap of an adult, along with another three year old. The adult wasn’t her head teacher, err. counselor, who Calliope adores. I was pleased because it’s rare for her to warm up to more than one adult.

But I was slightly dismayed that she refused to perform with the rest of her group. She didn’t go to bed early last night (6:30) but instead “stayed up” until 7:30 and I guess she had a rough day as a result. At home, she was often going to bed after 8… but she was sleeping until 8 am plus taking a two hour nap each day. I’m so worried about chronic sleep deprivation for her starting next fall. She will have to get up even earlier than she is now (she’s waking up at 6:30 am right now but I will have to wake her at 6:15 this fall to have her out the door at 7:15, unless I can figure out how to get her to move more quickly and efficiently). And if she can’t fall asleep during rest time at camp, why would she be more likely to sleep at rest time during PreK? I’ve tried so hard to prioritize her sleep throughout her life (part of my reason for keeping her with a nanny this long), and I’m such a huge believer in the importance of children getting adequate sleep (and blame sleep deprivation for so many medical and behavioral problems in today’s young children)… but I just don’t know I can manage this next fall. Still, apart from today she’s seemed okay, so maybe she will be able to adjust to less sleep? I pray I’m not doing any serious harm to her by choosing this school (next fall) with an early start time and a long commute.

I also worry that Calliope might be worse off, socially, by having been with one child for so long. Or rather, I see both sides. She learned to play cooperatively from a very early age because Eleanor and she were together so much (40 hours a week together, most of it just the two of them). She has learned to negotiate conflict and sharing. On the other hand, it made it easy for her to neglect the skill of making new friends. And I wonder if her reluctance to make new friends is partly because she knows she has Eleanor? She did make friends with the other children in her play school, especially the ones she also had playdates with via the nannies. She just tends to be aloof with children she doesn’t know very well. Even when they approach her with friendly overtures. The same goes for unknown adults. And that behavior could really hurt her if it continues. 

On the plus side, this is the best she’s ever done in a new situation. I’ve not once had to peel her off of me when leaving; she barely cried when I left the first couple days, and not at all since then (though she cried for me at nap time yesterday). This is a huge improvement!

Unfortunately, day one of camp ended with a bull’s eye rash on her left arm so, after texting a photo of the rash to her pediatrician, she was started on a three week course of antibiotics for Lyme Disease. The timing is such that she must have been bitten our very first day in Woodstock (the rash takes 48–72 hours to develop and Monday afternoon was 48 hours after our arrival). Now I wonder, based on several tiny scabs at the center of the rash, if it wasn’t really a tick bite but something larger. Still, I’m so scared by the potential sequelae of Lyme Disease that I wouldn’t take a chance and not give the antibiotics. Indeed, I’m kind of scared by the fact that only 75-80% of cases have the rash. What if she hadn’t had the rash??? I’m hoping the antibiotics will protect her from the effects of tick bites the entire time she’s on them, though I have no idea if that is possible.

Amelie is thriving. Her hair is thickening on the sides a bit. Babies really are improved by the presence of hair! She’s added growling to her verbal repertoire, and yesterday added a consonant for the first time to her vowel coos — a “P” sort of sound as she struggles to make raspberries with her mouth. 

She’s a highly social creature. She will lean forward towards a stranger and stare and chortle with delight until they turn their attention towards her. Unless she’s tired, she loves to be cuddled by strangers and friends alike. And she regales everyone with long strings of liquid vowels. She certainly has a lot to say. 

Her sleep has worsened a bit with the travel, though I suppose I have no right to complain about a three month old baby who wants to eat once during the night. And when I’m paying attention to her cues, she still likes to be awake for only an hour at a time, though she can now tolerate being awake for longer. It’s hard to accommodate her preferred schedule and still leave the house! She doesn’t sleep for long on the go, except if I’m walking with her in the baby carrier. She’s rolled a few more times from her stomach to her back but it still seems more like some luck with gravity than active rolling. She’s just started supporting some weight on her legs when I put her in a standing position, which is fun. Her thighs continue to get rounder but she’s swimming in her six month pajama sleeper. 

As for me, you know, separate from my girls? I feel like I have so little to say about that. Some days I feel like I’m rushing so much, here, just to get Calliope to camp on time and to get Amelie to a nap or to a feeding before she falls apart, and then to try to get Emily to a place to swim plus prepare meals, clean up, exercise, and shower that it doesn’t feel like much of a vacation. I have no phone or internet in the cabin, which means that’s one more thing I have to address during the precious few hours that Calliope is at camp. Today we didn’t go anywhere (partly because we had to be at camp an hour earlier than usual for the Friday performance) and it was such a relief to not be rushing all day. And to let Amelie nap as long as she wanted. Poor baby so often gets woken up or dragged along somewhere. Another thing to feel guilty about. Yesterday we took her to a gorgeous stream and she slept in her car seat to the sound of rushing water while we played on the boulders and in the small waterfalls and pools. 

But, a thing I’m trying to do for me. Well, apart from my T25 workouts. Which I’m really loving. They are very intense but can be done anywhere, without equipment, and they only last 25 minutes and then I’m done. I feel so much stronger after just a few short weeks. Elliptical didn’t do anything by comparison! Anyway, in addition to that, I’ve decided to cut sugar out of my diet. Mostly focusing on refined sugar, and avoiding all sweet treats. This is really, really hard for me. I made a little loophole for myself for small doses of very dark chocolate, because I love it and also, I never feel wonky after eating it. But I’m surely missing desserts. I still eat fruits, but carefully. Berries with plain yogurt and heavy cream for breakfast, and berries or a peach with heavy cream for dessert at night. But I mostly avoid it during the day because my energy level will tank after eating it.

About a year before Amelie was born, I went to an endocrinologist and discovered that my Hemoglobin A1C, a measure of my blood sugar averaged over three months, was very close to pre diabetic range. This surprised and scared me. While I’m twenty pounds from my skinny ideal of ten years ago, I’m barely overweight. I exercise regularly (and vigorously). Diabetes doesn’t run in my family. Unfortunately, PCOS does. And PCOS puts even normal weight women at high risk for diabetes. And something about having two children in the world has made me very, very aware of my mortality. Thus, I need to avoid diabetes. 

I’m thinking about asking my doctor for a prescription for a glucometer so I can measure my blood sugar to see how I react to certain foods, but I’m not quite mental prepared for that yet. So for now I’m just trying to pay extra careful attention to how I feel after eating certain foods. I’ve known for many years that I get super sleepy after eating an apple, even doused in peanut butter, and so I avoid them except in the evening (or with yogurt for breakfast; that also works). Yesterday I had a free sample bite of “sugar free” (no doubt sweetened with something, just not refined sugar) homemade banana bread at Calliope’s camp and I felt awful afterwards, dry mouthed and sleepy, for ages, even though it was just one bite and I had eaten a healthy meal of salad and tofu not long before. 

My friend Barbara has been my inspiration. She was diagnosed with diabetes last spring and followed the diet given to her by her doctor, with great precision, including cutting out all sugar and alcohol. She hasn’t cheated once. She’s lost more than sixty pounds and her blood sugar/hemoglobin A1C is completely normal now. Total abstinence works for her. I’m not an abstinence sort of person but I get scared every time I think of those blood test results. So I’m trying. I ate a couple bites of Calliope’s scone tonight, and a few bites of her muffin a few days ago. 

It’s been about 10 days now and I don’t know if I’ve lost any weight since I didn’t weight myself when I started but my belly has definitely gotten flatter (admittedly over the last several weeks, not just since cutting back sugar). I don’t really feel any different otherwise. For better or worse. 

7/19 Weekend in Woodstock

Saturday was great. Magical, even. We woke up early (like small children typically do) and it was cloudy so I decided to get us out early, before it started raining and we were stranded in our tiny cabin. So we rounded up Amelie and headed out, Calliope still in her pajamas (her preference). We went to the bakery in town for a lovely breakfast, just like we do in Brooklyn. We walked down the street to the health food store and loaded up the stroller, then walked back into the town center to ogle the windows of the local toy shop where, to our delight, she decided to open up 30 minutes early. 

I decided to treat the toy shop as a children’s museum, and let Calliope play as long as she wanted with the toys on display… and bought several birthday presents to show my appreciation. By then it was nearly lunch time so we headed back “home,” where Emily invited us up to the main house for lunch. After lunch and rest time (and a workout for me — definitely getting stronger, with deeper squats and lunges) we plus Emily headed to a new (to us) stream to explore. Amelie waited cheerfully in bug net bedecked car seat on the banks of the very tame stream, perfect for Calliope, while the three of us played in the water. We finally abandoned ship when the thunder rumbled ominously close by. We said goodbye to Emily when we got back and Calliope and I quickly lit a fire in the stone grill under the trees. It was already sprinkling but I’m so far too intimidated to cook inside our minuscule kitchen. It ended up being a really sweet ending to a great day — Amelie was asleep inside and we dashed back and forth through the rain until I finally called it quits and we dashed inside just before the skies opened up and dumped rain on our roof. We were dry inside and watched the storm through large open windows — I love that feeling of being so close to the weather yet dry and cozy. It was magical, watching that pouring rain with my girl as we ate our dinner. A moment I hope she remembers. 

Today was harder, for no apparent reason. Emily’s parents agreed to watch Amelie, starting at 10:30 AM, so we could go to a more adventurous swimming hole without needing to worry about my precious cargo. But it took an hour to actually leave — sometimes just the packing and the sunscreening and the changing and the making of lunches is so darn tiring! So we only had two hours to play. It was beautiful, though. The water was rushing much more loudly and dramatically after the previous evening’s storms. There were boulders to climb and waterfalls to explore. We came back for rest time (Calliope hasn’t napped once since we’ve been here, though Amelie and I did) and after my brief snooze, I did a gentle stretching workout. My hips have been so very sore, sleeping on the futon here, so I tried sleeping on my back last night. Ouch! My low back has been threatening to freeze up many times today. The stretching helped but something just made me feel so depressed and isolated. It’s hard not having internet and phone access for more than a few minutes a day! It’s really starting to get to me. I’ve been composing blog posts on my laptop but can’t post them. I miss following Facebook and checking in on the SMC Forum. And I try to stay away from Emily’s parents’ house, so as not to impose, but this tiny oh so cluttered space makes me claustrophobic rather quickly. Especially with a three year old on my heels, commenting on everything, singing, making “jokes,” and just generally giving me a total lack of personal space. Tomorrow she goes back to camp and I’m going to ask to camp out in Emily’s bedroom for a few hours to use her mother’s computer if the wireless is down again (sometimes I can access it from their porch but not today). 

I think I’m also discouraged because I had started to lose weight from cutting out sugar and so I thought I really might slim down. And now I’ve gained back those couple of pounds and I’m mad at myself for setting myself up that way. While I was stable for a number of years at twenty pounds less than now, the fact is that I’ve been stable at this “new” weight for a number of years as well. So I should just accept that this is my set point, and I’m lucky to be back at it only 3 months (four, tomorrow!) after giving birth. And focus, as I originally intended to do, on cutting out sugar to reduce my risk of diabetes, NOT to lose weight. Duh. And not set myself up for disappointment. 

Fourteen Weeks

Our family (still can't get used to saying that!) on the Brooklyn waterfront. Manhattan skyline is in the background.

For the record, I would have no idea how many weeks we were at if not for this blog. But it's a fun little assignment, writing something for each week of Amelie.

But first, Calliope. She finished her second week of camp at Kaleidoscope. She had a great time, and I'm a little sad that she won't get to continue going there, because her classmates are all kids in the neighborhood, as opposed to preK at BNS, which is a subway ride away. (Not second guessing my decision, though.)

Unfortunately, she spiked a fever Sunday night which lasted until Tuesday. Technically I should have kept her home on Wednesday but she seemed so much better and I didn't want her to only have one day of camp this week (since Friday was a holiday) -- I wanted it to end with her feeling confident. So I brought her back, looking a little peaked, but she had two good days. Though both days, she fell apart when she got home. And yesterday, she not only seemed exhausted but also started coughing a little. And had sores in her mouth.

She seemed like she was fighting something this morning but we had planned a special outing with Amy and Eleanor (and babies Leo and Amelie) to Brooklyn Bridge Park which I hated to cancel. And she rallied after being up for a little while. So off we went. She mostly seemed fine, apart from needing Motrin for the painful sores in her mouth. But by the afternoon she was dragging a bit, and her eyes were drooping, though she gamely soldiered on through many, many blocks of scootering and hot sun. I felt pretty guilty by the end, though, when she just couldn't keep going and I put her in Amelie's stroller. I felt even more guilty when we got home and I realized she had a fever. I gave her some Motrin and she went to bed at 5 pm, a first.

So I reckon she's got Coxsackie virus, which causes hand foot and mouth disease, though hopefully she doesn't get the lesions on her hands and feet. She's also sounding croupy and congested. Seriously praying the baby doesn't get it.

We will be enjoying a home day tomorrow. Poor girl is exhausted. Sunday we are supposed to go to Queens to a famous dumpling place with friends, and Wednesday is a Beach Day for the Big Girls while Susie stays with the babies but otherwise... a mellow week before our travels begin.

Amelie keeps on being her delicious kissable self. Smiles at everyone, rarely cries. I just feel guilty because her naps are always being compromised. (I worry that Calliope isn't sleeping enough either, now that her naps are being mostly dropped by camp. Sleep is a thing with me.) More wakings during the night recently. I'm trying to stay firm on not feeding her. Which means I'm waking up hourly to replace the pacifier. So I reckon I'm not getting enough sleep, either.

I started doing a new fitnes regime a few weeks ago, T2.5. I like it. It's only 25 minutes per day, 6 days a week. But I'm very wobbly. Come to find out my abdominal muscles are separated more than they are supposed to be. Which is making for weak butt muscles and an overly tight lower back and stiff hip joint. Awesome. So I started physical therapy last week. She comes to the house, which is amazing, especially since it doesn't cost any more than it would in an office. Anyway, I hope I'm getting stronger. On her advice, I'm now wearing a tight wrap around my belly to hold my organs in, Not ideal in summer weather but oh well. I'll be glad not to have a hole in my stomach.

Calliope and her bestie at the Brooklyn waterfront

Calliope has been waiting for months to check out the crib mobile with her sister. Finally got the chance!

 

This Bumbo makes my neck look even more nonexistent!

Chillin' in my new (borrowed) stroller

Pride

One of the wonderful things about having children is having the opportunity to indoctrinate them

Speaking of love... I was so happy to hear about the Supreme Court's decision to legalize gay marriage in all 50 states. I must admit I had no idea the decision was being made -- since Amelie arrived, I'm more oblivious than ever to news beyond our own apartment -- but I'm overjoyed nonetheless.

I went through a lesbian-identified phase a while back, at the end of college. Then I fell in love with a man. Now I have no idea what I am. Mostly, I'm a mother with zero interest in dating, or even in sex. I'm taking care of enough people as it is. But my rare (and mild) attractions to other people are generally women. Yet I love sex with men. Who knows???

Regardless, I decided to skip a museum outing with SMC friends to make our way to the Pride parade in the West Village (NYC). We couldn't get too close with a stroller but it was wonderful just to be there for an hour to absorb the joyous energy. There were lots of folks in outlandishly sexy get ups but we got smiles and "god bless" comments directed our way, regardless.

When I told Calliope we were going to a Pride parade, she asked what Pride is. She asked me what that meant, and why there would be a parade.

"People are celebrating because remember how sometimes people get married (she assumes that in every couple, someone is the Mommy or Daddy and someone is the child)? Well, there used to be a law that men could only marry women. And now there's a law that men can marry men and women can marry women. Anyone can marry whoever they want! Isn't that cool???"

"So people can marry Mommies?" (Because why wouldn't you want to live with your Mommy forever, right?)

"Well, no."

"But why not?"

"We don't marry our families."

"Why not?"

Obviously I can't say anything about childbearing issues if I'm talking about same sex marriage! So I was stumped.

"Good question. I'll get back to you."

Camp and PreK

Modeling Nastya's (our former nanny comes back to babysit!) sunglasses. 

Calliope (and her bestie, Eleanor) started camp at Kaleidoscope last week. There were some tears the first day -- apparently she cried every half hour during the first day, and refused to eat -- but mostly it's been smooth sailing since then. She seems to like it. They rode the school van to Prospect Park one day to play in the sprinklers at Vanderbilt Playground one day, and I'm still hearing, a week later, about this van. They did tie dye one day, and she seemed to like that although had no really clue what they were doing. She likes the toys there. And especially, being there with Eleanor.

Ready for her first day of camp

Too cool for school. Literally.
She insisted on the fancy lacy sweater despite it being 80 degrees out at 8 am.

We signed the girls up for this camp because doing so allowed us to designate them as "already enrolled students" when signing up for PreK spots through NYC's Department of Education website. Since the DOE decided, in its infinite wisdom, to take responsibility for admissions for all publicly funded PreK's in NYC halfway through the admissions process, we had to rank our choices. We would only get one offer letter. So we wanted to make sure our first choice was a sure thing. The school where I work is a long shot, at best, so I ranked it below Kaleidoscope.

Camp seems fine, though we don't hear much from the teachers.

Meanwhile, I got the impression that if I pulled some strings at work, I might be able to get Calliope into the PreK program at my school, BNS. But it would require asking a teacher to take a 19th child , my child, in her classroom. I agonized, because my school is amazing, but ultimately decided that it wasn't worth the logistical hassle of commuting with Calliope. We would have to leave the house at 7:15 am every day to get to BNS on time... but she could leave the house at 8:30 or even 8:45 every day to be on time to Kaleidoscope. And the nanny would be the one getting her dressed and ready, instead of me. A lot less stress, since she's definitely more cooperative with the nanny.

And then one of the PreK teachers actually offered to take Calliope as a 19th student, as a personal favor, because she was "grateful for all I've done for her students over the years." Wow. What an amazing offer! I was humbled. And agonized all over again. And finally, regretfully, declined. Partly because I asked Calliope what she thought. She considered the idea for a moment, and then asked, "Can Ellie (Eleanor) get a spot at your school too?"

"No, my love. Only you."

"Then I want to stay at Kaleidoscope."

Even though she's only three, it helped me to hear her say that. So I thanked the teacher and reassured Amy, Eleanor's mother, that our plans hadn't changed. We had been investigating afterschool care at that point, you see, and had interviewed two babysitters,

And then, last Friday, the principal and the parent-coordinator called me into their office and said, "We have a PreK spot for Calliope."

Sigh.

I should explain that getting a PreK spot at BNS is pretty much like winning the lottery. Siblings get first dibs, and this year, there were 39 siblings for 36 spots. Even for kindergarten, when I tell parents of young children where I work, they gasp and ask if I can help get their child into my school. (No, I have nothing to do with admissions.) It's an amazing public school. Admissions is by lottery. It's racially and economically diverse. It's based on a Reggio Emilia approach to education, play based and project driven. Children love coming to school here. The teachers are devoted and loving and, when I finally started attending the biannual staff parties last year, incredibly nice people.

And something about getting an offer, and having this issue come up a third time... it felt like a sign. My friend Barbara reminded me of the joke about the guy sitting on his roof as the flood waters rising and three times, someone comes to rescue him, and three times he says, "No, God will take care of me." And so he drowns and when he arrives in the afterlife, reproaches God, "why didn't you save me?" And God says, "Three times I sent someone to rescue you!"

And so I allowed myself to think about how happy it would make me to see Calliope's little face in the hallway at work, to visit her classroom, to be able to talk to her teacher whenever I had concerns (Kaleidoscope has not yet offered any way to reach her teachers, and her director checks email only every few days), to know that she could play on a multifaceted NYC public playground instead of the rooftop play space at Kaleidoscope (not much available for my climber), to know that her brain was being stretched in all the right ways (with carefully designed play based curricula... which allows the children to decide what they want to study)... I also thought about how easy, relatively, motherhood has been for me. The nanny comes in the morning and I leave. She dresses and feeds and combs and tidies, too. Playschool was in my apartment, so I never commuted with a child. And now I would have to cajole Calliope out of bed and into her clothes and into the bathroom, all before 7:15 am, and all while also juggling a nursing infant.

I agonized. I called everyone I knew who might have relevant experience. I polled all my friends. And Monday morning, I walked into the principal's office, cuddling my roly poly baby (she's come to work these last two days as Calliope is sick again with fever, and I didn't want to overburden the nanny, and there's no kids here anyway), and took a deep breath and accepted the offer.

And felt giddy butterflies in my stomach. Which made me feel like I made the right decision.

Even while I'm already wondering if waking Calliope at 6:30 am is enough time to get her out of the house, or if it really needs to be 6:15. And if I can get her to bed by 6:30 pm, and if I can possibly pull that off. or if she will successfully nap at school and thus be able to go to sleep a bit later. And planning out laminated schedules where she can check off her tasks as she accomplishes them each day. And wondering when I will be able to lavish attention on my sweet baby, whose infancy is rushing by. I'm hoping that by devoting time to Calliope during our commute (do I hire a babysitter to watch her from 2:30, when she finishes school, or do I keep her with me and skip my lunch break so I can leave an hour earlier but never have personal time to get things done?), I can focus on Amelie when I get home.

My biggest fear is that I will be constantly stressed and anxious and thus, nagging Calliope. I'm scared of damaging our relationship. I'm afraid that the positives of this school could easily be outweighed by the stress on our relationship.

Please, if you have suggestions, let me hear them!