Ode to a Sick Babe

In the midst of the snowy holiday season

A small babe, with powerful lungs, 

began to cry for seemingly no reason.

Now this little boy wasn't more than a sprout,

at only a few months old, he was much too young

to be sick and cry and pout.

His parents rushed him to the doctor, crying

"Help us, please!" She eased their fears with a smile.

"It is nothing to worry, keep him hydrated," she said sighing.

They treated his cold with such great speed!

Healing up nicely, Miles cooed and played, 

but then he began to wheeze with need.

His lungs labored and sounded horrible, 

so back to the doctor they went

And she agreed, he sounded deplorable! 

With a case of bronchiolitis, Miles was surely in bad shape.

His parents introduced his 'baby bong' and Tylenol,

which tasted like grape. 

No rest for the weary,

his parents cried. With four hands and one baby,

it should be easy, in theory.

His cough cleared up and he seemed so cheery, 

but what did their eyes behold:

Miles looking red-eyed and teary. 

To Urgent Care mama flew,

"Looks like he has pink eye," she stated firmly.

And all mama could do was to softly boo-hoo.

Armed with eye drops they knew they would deplore,

Mom and Dad conquered that medication,

hoping, praying there would be no more.

Miles returned to his happy self,

until one starry Christmas night,

when he began to fuss and ralph.

Mom and Dad pleaded with him, "Not again!"

Was there nothing they could do?

Any way to end this cursed strain?

Once more, they trekked to the doctor's office, 

Only to find out there was nothing they could do.

Tylenol, fluids, and rest are the only things that would suffice.

Rocking baby quietly in the corner, after a midnight feeding,

Mama pleads with the sleeping babe,

"Please, please, let us be succeeding!"

Laying the small baby down in his crib for the night,

Mom and Dad look down with tired eyes,

thinking to themselves, please God, let the end be in sight!

A Letter to Our Baby at 3 Months

Dear Miles,

You are three months old today and what a wonderful, exciting, exhausting, awesome time it has been. We have watched you grow and nearly double in weight, we heard your first attempts at laughing, and soaked in all your smiles.

We likely won't be forgetting your biggest milestones--the first time you held your head up on your own or held a bottle by yourself (mostly...daddy was there to catch it) or when you looked at us with a giant smile and a little gurgle-giggle.

But, there will come a day when we forget some of the small things, like when you threw up all over mommy in a restaurant or the time daddy wore you strapped to him while we shopped in Target (you loved it).

Time moves on and with it our memory fades. You won't remember any of these first few years, so it is our job to absorb it all for you.

Mommy loved when you fit to her like a warm puzzle piece, and daddy had fun taking a bath with you. Your hands are so small and when you wrap your little fingers around ours, we become further wrapped around yours.

You'll never remember a time when you hated being changed, and now you smile as soon as we get you out of your crib for the morning diaper change. You love to babble and talk with daddy in the morning, telling him all about your night in your crib.

Your skin is smooth and soft and perfect, which makes mommy jealous. Your toes are nearly tinier than daddy's pinky fingernail. Your eyes fluctuate between brown and blue, but mommy not-so-secretly hopes you get her brown eyes.

You smile with your whole body, and we hope you never lose that quality. Your eyes light up when you see us in morning, which makes our day a little brighter. The "cranky hours" after work are the worst, but it is also a wonderful excuse to cuddle.

We often wonder how you got so big so fast, and everyone always says they want time to slow down with their kids, but for us, we want to see you grow up. Your personality is budding and it is a beautiful thing...we love how tiny you are, but we would never wish for you to stay small forever because it is too much fun to see you become the person you are going to be.

Our lives, while more challenging and tiring, are better with you in them. Keep up the smiles and learn to laugh and you are golden, kid.

Love you,
Mama and Dada

The Day I Battled My First Diaper Blowout

I remember--and can still smell--this special day very clearly.

Miles was about 8 weeks old (yeah, I didn't have to deal with a poopy diaper blowout until 8 weeks, woo-hoo!) and we were on the way home from the chiropractor.

Just before I left the doctor's office, I started to smell the funk emanating from his diaper. It wasn't too bad, yet. His face was red and he was grunting. Miles was still working on getting some of that green nastiness out, so when the receptionist offered a room in the office to change him, I politely declined, "No, we are only 15 minutes from home. We'll be okay."

I smiled down at Miles. He grunted again. Oh, how wrong I was.

As I was driving, baby decided it was a good time to scream. Loudly. After I cranked the music up to bass-pounding levels, Miles calmed down and, believe it or not, fell asleep.

By the time we made it home, I had forgotten about the diaper (mommy brain at it's best). I let him sleep in the car seat at my feet for about 5 or 10 minutes before he started to get fussy.

As I started to unstrap him, the smell hit me.

It was bad, very bad.

I wrapped my hands around him and came in contact with poop--I might have gagged a little.

I rushed him to the changing table and that's when the full out screaming started. I was stripping wet, stained clothes off my baby, and all the while he wouldn't stop wiggling. Of course, my husband happened to be out of the house during this time (trust me, he heard the full and detailed account as soon as he stepped in the door).

I finally got the clothes and diaper off of him, only to be left with a lot of poop. All over. I plopped a still screaming baby in the tub and gave him the quickest and most thorough bath I could.

Then I realized I didn't have a towel nearby. So now I had a very cold, wet, and squirming baby in my arms while I tried to wrangle a towel.

Finally, I get Miles in a new diaper and clothes (yeah, Miles is still bawling). I place him in his crib to clean up the changing pad and mess I had made.

Then it hits me: I hadn't even started to clean out the car seat.

This is about the time I wished I had two more hands and could be in more than one place at a time (cue missing husband).

A lot of fabric cleaner and paper towels later, the car seat was clean (with a faded poop stain).

All there was left was to calm an unhappy baby. I popped a bottle in that kid's mouth, and voila!! Happy baby.

It felt like Miles had been screaming for hours. And this all went down in 20 minutes.

Something about screaming and poop makes time slow down.

Poop: 0 Mommy: 1

Postpartum Depression: the Elephant in the Room

You come to visit. I smile, you laugh. You coo at the baby. You ask how much I am loving motherhood. I respond with a tiny smile and tired eyes, "We're good. It's hard."

I notice your slightly furrowed brow or strange look at my curt answer. I immediately change my expression to a wider, forced smile and respond that we couldn't be luckier to have such an easy, healthy baby. You relax a bit and go back to playing with the baby.

But inside, I am struggling. You can't see it because I hide it. I can't hide it from my husband, even though I try to most of the time. I break down and cry a couple times a week. It can be from simple things, such as not feeling up to cooking dinner. Or bigger issues, such as not fitting in any of my clothes and feeling depressed that I can't wear anything.

The truth is that I am wading through mild postpartum depression. At least, that's what I think it is. I don't know for sure because I haven't been to a doctor or consulted a therapist, but it feels lonely. And sad. I don't feel like that all the time, but a few times a day I wonder about how I am feeling and if it is normal.

At first, I blamed it on my hormones calming down after birth. But now, 11 weeks later, I don't think I can blame it on those hormones anymore.

No one talks about it because it's uncomfortable. Who wants to talk to someone dealing with depression? What's worse is that many people dismiss your feelings as something you will get over. You just need time, they say. Sure, in time, I know I will go back to my normal self, but for those women who are fighting a bigger demon than me, it could never feel the same unless they get some help.

And maybe I will need help. I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does, I know that I have people in my life who will support that decision.

That all-consuming love for your child doesn't always happen right away. It didn't for me. I was confused and overwhelmed by the fact that I had just become a mother. I know I had nine months to prepare, but it wasn't enough time. And there are still times when I am slightly sleep deprived and Miles won't let me put him down, I don't always feel it. And that is deeply embarrassing to admit.

Then there are times when he looks up at me in the morning, and he smiles. He is starving and has a massive poopy diaper, but he sees me and he smiles. That warms my heart. I love my child and I love my husband. I love my family. But some days are hard. Two steps forward, one step back.

And that is what I wish you could see in our smiling photos. I want to be happy all the time. I want to feel this amazingly powerful love all the time. But sometimes I can't. A lot of times I just want to wallow and cry in a corner because this is harder than I ever imagined. Sometimes I want to cry in happiness at how wonderful Miles is--it's awesome to see his budding personality.

To any one of my friends who is also silently holding back, I have found that laughing is really a wonderful medicine. When Miles cries, I try to find something I can laugh at (laughing at your crying child is totally okay, in my opinion). The way his bottom lip juts out just before he starts to cry is just the cutest, and I smile or laugh at how ridiculous he is for crying because he can't get his own hand in his mouth.

Finding joy in the little things is helping. And day by day, I think my head emerges from underneath the dense fog.

I didn't think it would happen to me. But it did. So there's my big ol' elephant in the room.

Welcome to the world, Miles

Welcome, baby Miles!

Let me tell you something: our baby boy is just a month old and it is already one of the hardest things I have ever done, and I am pretty sure that Curt would agree.

Everyone always says that you cannot be prepared for what comes after giving birth, and it is completely true. You can read the books (which have actually helped with soothing Miles when he is upset) and take the classes, but it is nothing like the real thing,

And I can't stress this enough: we have been doing this for a month. ONE MONTH.

But Miles is so sweet and lovable, and I wanted to share our birth story with all of those that have been asking and so that I have a record of it somewhere, cause let's be honest...I will not actually be doing a baby book.

Around 8 a.m. Wednesday, July 22, I started feeling some cramping in my lower back. I had been feeling period-like cramps for a couple days and at my appointment a week before, I was dilated 2 cm. We knew it could happen anytime and I immediately wondered if the inconsistent cramping was Braxton Hicks or the real deal.

I went to work and the cramping was getting more consistent, but it didn't hurt and was all in my back. I started timing the contractions, and went home around 11:30 to be more comfortable, and that is when things got more painful.

I walked round the house for hours, took a bath, and drank a ton of water to make sure it wasn't false labor, and around 7:00 p.m., the pain was getting strong enough that I was having trouble walking. So we packed the car up and drove the 20 minutes to the hospital.

They hooked me up to the monitors for about a half hour and determined I was still in early labor, and I hadn't progressed since my last check-up the week before. They said they would give me morphine and send me home to "sleep through the night."

I immediately cried, due to the news and a particularly painful contraction (oh, and my contractions were all in my back...back labor is horrible, horrible, horrible). Like anyone could sleep through the night with contractions every five minutes. And morphine does nothing to ease that pain.

Since the hospital is small and it was after hours, I had to wait for the morphine order to go through. I sat in the room for an hour, crying in pain and frustration as the contractions got stronger. Thankfully, I was slightly hysterical, because the nurses heard me and felt I was heading into active labor.

They received permission from the doctor around 9:30 p.m. to keep me overnight and monitor me. At this point, I was still waiting for my morphine, but they wanted me to labor in the tub for awhile, and when I couldn't stand that anymore, they hooked me up to my monitors and had the doctor check me. I had dilated to 3 cm so they told me I could stay permanently! But no epidural...boo.

I got my morphine and while it probably did take the edge off, it really felt useless. I was tired between contractions thanks to the morphine, but couldn't sleep. At this point, I lost track of time, and I am not sure when the doctor finally came back to check on me, but I had dilated to 6 cm very quickly. And my first question?

"Can I have an epidural now?!"

They called the anesthesiologist, but since it was late at night, they had to bring him in from home. I have no idea how long I labored until he got there, but I had reached the transition phase of labor (the most painful part of contractions) and I was not a happy camper.

By the time he had finally inserted the epidural (around 1 a.m.), I had dilated to 9 cm and was going to start pushing soon. Thankfully, most of the pain was gone, but I could still feel the contractions in my backside because Miles was so far down.

In the end, being able to feel the contractions helped me with pushing, and I was still able to move my legs a bit. I ended up having the epidural for about two hours of the 18 hours I was considered in labor. I am not gonna lie, the epidural was the best thing EVER and I wish they had given it to me sooner, but since I progressed so quickly, there wasn't much they could do (at least that's what I told myself so I wouldn't strangle the doctor).

The actual pushing was really laid back, and I was actually able to joke and talk with the doctor between contractions. There was only one slightly nerve-wrecking moment when they broke my water and found the meconium in it, which is not good for the baby. However they had the pediatrician on hand right after he was born, and he was completely fine.

I barely felt the actual pushing part (thank you, epidural!!) and I only pushed for a half hour with pretty much no pain. Little Miles was born at 3:19 a.m. on July 23.

Other than the transition phase of the labor, it wasn't all too horrible. Painful, yes. But it was pain with a purpose...until that transition. At that point I wanted to rip the baby out and my uterus with him. I can't believe I ever thought I would go through labor without an epidural. More power to those that can do that, but I am definitely not one of them.

In the end, we got a beautiful and very healthy baby boy. With no complications and a fairly short labor for a first baby, I would say our family was very blessed!

7 pounds 9.5 ounces and 19.5 inches long

LeFou, I'm afraid I've been thinking.

I have been a seriously horrible blogger. This is what happens when you write all day--your own writing suffers.

It's not like hundreds read my posts, but it still cool to think that at least a little bit of my writing is out there for the world to see. Well, actually, you can see a lot of it on Central's website. Just sayin'. :-)

I was given an interesting question to answer yesterday after I applied to a job, and it got me thinking. Doesn't seem to happen often, but I was thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. And the answer startled me: I don't know. I love writing. I love reading. I love history. I love nonprofit work. I love this. I love that. I love lamp.

Seriously, I think my brain was in overdrive.

There are so many possibilities (most of which I am not qualified for). And all I keep coming back to is writing. My husband keeps saying that I just have to write the next crazy teen novel and we will be set for life. I mean, that's cool and all, but that means you actually have to have an idea in mind. Soooo. There's that.

Here's what I came to in my thinking quest. I don't really know what I want to be doing 40 years from now. Maybe I will be traveling around the world (wishful thinking). Or maybe I will be a big time novelist (probably unlikely). Or maybe I will figure it out as I go. My 8 Ball says "most definitely."

10 weeks later

So I completely forgot to update in the past four weeks!

Good news: Curt and I have still been running and completing all of the exercises (even while on our honeymoon cruise last week).

Bad news: I gained six pounds on the cruise (and thankfully, dropped three in the two days following). They seriously feed you too much! ;-)

This is our final week, and to be honest, I didn't think I would make it here. And all the credit goes to my husband, because if he hadn't joined me, I would have stopped after week two. So thank you, thank you, thank you, Curt!

This week, we are supposed to run a 5k, however, our Color Run is next week. Sooo, I am going to run one this week and next week! Whoop! Thanks to the cruise weight, I have some new ambition. :-)

Honeymoon cruise update and pictures up later. Ta-ta!