Breastfeeding rocks.

I am wearing my favorite pair of (pre-pregnancy) designer jeans, the ones I paid retail for, they fit so well. They’re a touch snug in the waist, but luckily everything in my waist area is relatively squishy, so I just smooshed my gut into them and put on a loose top.

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We are not a nocturnal people anymore.

It’s amazing how much more human I feel when the kidlet decides to go back to sleep after her middle-of-the-night feedings, instead of staying up to party the night away.

in other words, I think we’ve managed to clue her in to the difference between day and night — or at least to straighten out which one of those equals “awake” time and which one means “sleep.” Joy!

There’s a lot I don’t know about babies.

So it’s been a week. Well, a week and a day. Eight days. And my little girl is beautiful and perfect and delightful. She also doesn’t sleep at the right times, nor is she awake at the right times, so it’s a good thing she’s beautiful, perfect, and delightful. Otherwise, the fussing and crying from 6 pm to midnight, and the refusal to calm down enough to eat, and the falling asleep as soon as I start to feed her, and the staying awake after feedings instead of napping…well, all of that would really be getting to me. OK, it is getting to me. But I love that little girl, so I know it’ll all be OK.

Being the research-oriented person that I am, I have of course spent a lot of time with Dr. Google, trying to figure out what I can do about the excessive sleepiness, the evening fussiness, the feeding issues. And I think I’ve just about exhausted my need to read all about what other people think I should do. This is a good thing. When I’m drafting something at work, I know I’ve reached the point where I can start writing when I am sick of running more searches. Well, I’m sick of running searches, y’all. Everyone has a different opinion, a different solution, a different philosophy; what almost every source agrees on is that this stuff is totally normal.

It feels a little silly to not know that, but, hey, this is my first baby. And while I have younger siblings, they are step- and half-siblings, so I wasn’t in the house with them when they were newborns. I’ve babysat a fair number of kids, and changed lots of diapers, and even held my fair share of newborns, but I’ve never spent an extended period of time with a brand new baby. So I needed the reassurance — such as it is — of multiple online sources (and not the crazy wackadoo ones, but the respectable ones) telling me that this is Normal.

Anyway, that’s a long-winded way of saying that things are going as well as they can, given my daughter’s unwillingness to stay awake to eat and her propensity for evening fussiness (and cluster feeding, oh God, the cluster feeding).  We’re doing well. And I am more thankful than ever that I have four months (or, now, three months and three weeks) to spend at home with her.

She’s here!

Just a quick post from my phone to say that our daughter, Clara Margaret, was born on December 1, a mere 90 minutes after it was no longer her due date. I managed to push her out all on my own (no pitocin, forceps or vacuum) after 24 hours of labor (got the epidural around hour 15, though that was always in the plan).

I managed to miss my last day in the office as well as any pre-baby maternity leave, and I had to send two work emails from the hospital (yes, I know…), but I am so in love with this little girl that I just don’t care. I am so enjoying this adventure.

No news means no news, people.

Dear family, friends, and neighbors:

If you do not receive a phone call, text, or email message from me telling you that I am in labor, or am heading to the hospital, or have had a baby, please assume that nothing is happening. If you are on the list of people who Need To Know, I promise, I will Let You Know. The daily check-in calls, texts, and emails are really, really, really annoying.

Kisses,

k

Giving thanks.

I’ve been pretty complainy over the last few days, when I should be focusing on the things I’m thankful for. So with no further ado, here’s my thanksgiving:

  • I’m thankful for my wonderful husband. Yes, I get annoyed at some of his habits and sometimes wish he’d pick up more of the slack around the house, but watching him get excited about this baby is one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever seen. And watching him work three weekends in a row to bank up enough paid time off to take a full month of leave has been amazing.
  • I’m thankful for my family. They drive me up the wall, but no one knows me the way they do.
  • I’m thankful for a healthy, easy pregnancy. I feel lucky every day that my body can do this.
  • I’m thankful for a job that I love and that I’m good at, for coworkers who genuinely seem to care about me and each other, and for a workplace culture that is accepting and accommodating of our growing family. It’s not all sweetness and roses, of course — I can’t imagine any workplace in which management would celebrate an employee taking off four months — but they’ve made it as easy as possible for me, and I am incredibly thankful for that.
  • I’m thankful for good health insurance. I’m so grateful that I haven’t had to stress about deductibles or copays or minimum contributions during my pregnancy. I wish everyone had access to such good health insurance.
  • I’m thankful for the excellent Indian restaurant that just happens to be 10 minutes from our house, and for the excellent shahi paneer I had for dinner last night. It did not kick off labor, but it was good enough that I’m almost OK with that.
  • I’m thankful for my smelly, stubborn, sneaky beggar of a dog. He follows me around constantly nowadays, refuses to eat his breakfast if I’m not close by, and has developed a bad habit of pawing at me for attention (mostly over the last few days, and I think it’s related to having houseguests and all the Thanksgiving hubbub), but he loves me unconditionally and protects me as much as a 17-pound terrier can. I couldn’t ask for a better dog.

But mostly, I’m thankful that, in no more than 10 days, we’ll be bringing home a beautiful baby boy or girl. We’re excited and we’re ready.

I am so over it.

Y’all, I’m done.

For all the complaining I’ve done to Mr. D. over the last few weeks, things haven’t really been that bad. Oh, sure, I can’t bend over. And it’s hard to walk up the hill to the bus stop. And I get heartburn all the time, and sleeping is difficult, and getting up from the couch really is as comical as it looks like on TV. But my pregnancy has been pretty easy, overall, and up until about a day or so ago, I really wasn’t feeling all that bad.

But now? I am done. I’ll be 39 weeks tomorrow, and I want this baby OUT. Now. My hormones are raging, so I am in a foul mood, certain family members are being asses, and I can barely concentrate at work to get done the four minor things I need to get done before I go out on maternity leave. Oh, and I am so effing uncomfortable I just can’t stand it.

The discomfort alone would be bearable, I think, if it weren’t for my shitty mood — made worse, no doubt, by the shitty weather, by the shitty things certain family members are doing, and by the fact that we’re hosting Thanksgiving (IN OUR HOUSE) starting today, when my in-laws arrive. I really like my in-laws — I really do! — and they are helpful around the house as well as relatively self-sufficient, so it could be worse. But, see above about my shitty mood. The last thing I want to be doing right now is playing hostess.  Six months ago, it sounded like a good idea; now it just seems like folly.

So today’s goal is to make it through the workday without bursting into tears (and I never cry, so the necessary coping mechanisms to make that happen are probably not very well tuned in my case), get home with some semblance of sanity left, and put on a happy face for my in-laws. And then maybe bury myself in Thanksgiving prep, because if I’m cooking, maybe people will just leave me alone.