lessons from Monica

My husband's grandmother, who died one year ago today, was just the best.  She was tiny and sweet, always the first to snuggle a baby or bake a batch of cookies, but she had a streak of steel running through her.  She was one of 11 children, a farm girl from Wisconsin, a nurse in Hawaii during WWII, wife of a surgeon, mother of five.  And oh, did she make us laugh. 

Things I learned from Monica Cass:

1.  Cook dinner, even if you don't want to.

"I have cooked dinner for my family almost every night for more than 60 years.  And I hated it every single time."  No matter.  The family gathered around her table over and over again, it was the best part of their day.  She knew that. 

2.  Every woman should marry a man who loves to dance.

She didn't.  She should have.  She was a jitterbug champion.

3.  Use the good silver.

And put it in the dishwasher, even.  Life's too short and there are lots of people at the table, so bring it out.

 

4.  Never drink light beer.

"Give me the darkest beer you have."  To our waiter, when she was 89 years old.

5. Sometimes, you just need to put the baby on the fire escape.

When Jon's grandfather was a young doctor, they lived in an apartment on Staten Island. They loved to socialize, and would have friends over to watch the fight on tv on Friday nights.  So, she would put the baby in a basket on the fire escape, with a bottle of milk mixed with a little bourbon. And she was a great mom. 

 

Resquiescat in pace, Monica. 

Easter Vacation

To the gentleman who refused to give up his aisle seat so the baby and I could sit across from Jon and the two boys: I hope the extra leg room was worth it.  I really do.  And I'm sorry about having to pass puke bags, poopy babies, and goldfish crackers across your relaxed self every 8 minutes or so.  Truly I am.

BUT - the trip was worth it.  Thanks to the generosity of my wonderful in-laws we spent five days in the southern California sunshine.  I loved it all. There's almost nothing more boring than other people's vacation photos (except for Mary's!  Rome!) but this one needs to be shared:

I have always said that I would never take my kids to Disney.  No, MY children would vacation in Italy and Bhutan, Namibia and Finland. And they would LOVE IT.  And yet - one day at a theme park seemed a small sacrifice for the absolute joy it gave those boys.  A whole world designed just for them. 

Plus I hear the flights to Bhutan are pretty long. 

Look how pale!  But sunshine!  Succulents!  California, I get it.  I do.


Family Photos September 2013

Inexcusable absence from this space.  I know, I know, I know.  But I've missed writing here, and want to check in more frequently.  So, why don't I start with something easy - some photos that we recently had taken of the family.  Our photographer, Margaret of Unusally Fine Photography, also took our engagement and wedding photos 5 years ago, and is incredible. 

 

I normally hate being photographed.  I get so worried about turning the right way and lifting my chin and making sure I'm sucking my stomach in and what my hair looks like.  Then I see the photos and I immediately start to criticize something.  But then months and months go by and I'm not in any photos with my kids - I think when they are older they are going to want to know what their mother looked like.  And they aren't going to care if I was still carrying a few pounds of baby weight or had messy hair that day.  (The fact that these are probably heavily 'shopped doesn't hurt).     



Cass' Birth Story

I will, I will, I WILL get this down before her two-month checkup.  I WILL.

I spent the majority of this last pregnancy absolutely certain that my baby was going to be born on the side of the road on the way to the hospital.  I told Jon he had to watch some YouTube "how to deliver a baby" tutorials or something, because he was definitely going to have to catch this baby.  Finn was born in 90 minutes, start to finish, and I knew that if that happened again there was no way I would make it to the hospital this time since we now live so far away.  The math went like this: 10-20 minutes for me to be sure I was in labor, 45 minutes for my mom to get here to watch the boys, 45 minutes to the hospital (more than an hour if it was rush hour) = baby on the side of the road.  The numbers didn't look any better if I went into labor while Jon was at work.  Then two weeks before my due date, my cousin gave birth to her third baby in an ambulance, not two blocks from her house.  See?  IT RUNS IN MY FAMILY.  (I have this theory that since we come from an unbroken line of Catholic peasants, we are exceptionally uncomplicated birthers.  Right?  Wouldn't our genetics just favor fast, easy deliveries?  Someone needs to do a study.)  I kept running scenarios over and over in my mind, trying to figure out the best plan.

So when I started having regular contractions about three weeks before Cass was born, I put everyone on high alert.  I thought I had had Braxton-Hicks contractions with Conor and Finn, but I must have imagined them, because these hurt.  Really hurt.  I stopped working and started spending all of my time focusing on the contractions, as if I could will them into turning into real labor.  It was exhausting.  I finally decided to ignore them completely and go on with my life, and immediately felt much better.  My midwife stripped my membranes at my 39 week appointment, which cause the contractions to get more intense that night, but it faded away by the next afternoon.  I was already three centimeters dilated, but I knew that that didn't mean much - I had been that dilated with Conor and Finn for weeks before they were born.

Three days after my due date, Jon and I were at the home inspection for the house we had just bought.  We walked around the house and property for about two hours, and at some point during that time something changed.  The contractions didn't feel any stronger or any closer together, but something was just - different.  I think the baby must have dropped very low, or it was just intuition, but as my mom (who is also my realtor) was leaving I said "Keep your phone on tonight."

We took the boys out for pizza for dinner, and when we arrived home, we got the news that Jon's 92-year-old grandmother, who we both loved dearly and were very close to, had passed away from cancer earlier that evening.  Jon had traveled to New Jersey to see her and say goodbye a week before, but I had hoped to have the baby before she went so she could meet her little namesake.  Even though we had expected the news, the grief was still overwhelming.

I stayed up too late that night, watching Breaking Bad reruns I think, and didn't get to bed until midnight.  At 1:30 I woke up with a staggering, overwhelming sensation in my abdomen - just a phantom memory of pain, a contraction I had while I was asleep.  I woke Jon up to time the contractions.  Yup, seven minutes later, another one.  We jumped out of bed right away, knowing that we were racing against the clock.  Jon called my mom and the midwife, who told us to come straight in.  While we were waiting for my mom to come and stay with the boys, I got in the shower.  I had eaten an orange the night before, and for some reason I thought I could still smell it on my hands and the smell was really bothering me.  I get preoccupied with little things during labor.

The contractions kept coming - every five minutes, then every three.  I did a lot of moaning and hanging off the staircase banister, or the counter, or the back of the couch - anything that could support my weight while I swayed.  Jon started out by rubbing my back and saying "shhh, you're ok" during contractions.  After I told him to stop saying that because I was most certainly NOT ok and did not care for being shushed, he switched to "you're doing great" which was much better.

My mom got to the house, and Jon already had the car running and our bags inside, a towel on the passenger seat, and my favorite Decemberists songs playing.  I had wanted to take our minivan because I thought that the space in the back would be useful for the roadside delivery I was sure we were facing, but was glad that Jon chose the stations wagon because - heated seats!  That heat felt so nice against my back during the drive.

Jon made it to the hospital in about 25 minutes, which is 30 minutes faster than I was ever able to do.  Good man.  I was so happy to be there.  We went in through the emergency room since it was about 2:00 a.m. at that point and the other entrance was closed.  By then I was feeling a lot of pressure and just wanted to be in a bed, so I was maybe a tiny bit rude to the inebriated ER patient who wanted to chat about how many kids I have during a contraction.

Because I'm a little delusional, I guess, I refused the wheelchair and walked up to labor and delivery, stopping every minute or two to hang onto a hand rail along the side of the hallway and moan through my contractions.  A very worried-looking aide got us to the maternity triage area, where Mary, the midwife on duty, helped me to undress, got me onto a stretcher, and checked me.  I remember her saying "you have fast labors, right?"  I said yes, that my second had been born within minutes of getting to the hospital.  She said, "Well, it looks like you're going to do it that way again!  You're at nine centimeters."

They rolled my bed down the hall to a delivery room,  and things get a bit hazy after that.  I remember that the room was very dark, and that it was just me, Jon, Mary, and a nurse.  I was on a fetal monitor, but couldn't see the feed or hear any machines beeping.  Time is strange when you're in labor - everything seemed to slow down dramatically.  I remember feeling like the time between contractions lasted forever, and turning to Jon and saying "I think my labor stopped.  I haven't had a contraction in 15 minutes."  He looked at me like I was crazy and said I was having contractions every minute or so.  I remember praying to Jon's grandmother, who I am sure was already with God and watching out for us, to ask God to help me deliver this great-granddaughter of hers.  I thought of my friends dealing with miscarriage and infertility, and tried to offer some of my pain for them.  These were fleeting, half-formed prayers, but I know they were heard. 

I wanted so badly for the baby to be born, and for the contractions to be over, but felt very overwhelmed and confused.  Both Conor and Finn had been delivered by midwives who were of the legs-back-count-to-ten-PUSH variety, which I didn't mind and was expecting.  Mary, however, just kept saying that I was a strong, healthy woman, and that I should  do what my body was telling me to do.  I had no idea what my body was telling me to do.  I tried a few pushes - nothing.  I just wanted this baby to come on her own, without me having to do anything.  I wanted to lie still and have her just arrive.  I was scared of the pain of the delivery, and I remember whispering to Jon that I didn't want it to hurt. 

I asked, "Can you see her yet?"  Mary said, firmly now, "Well, you have to push.  You know that."  So I lay on my back, pulled my legs back, and counted, like I had with Conor and Finn.  I still couldn't figure out how to push, and started to feel nauseous.  Mary said "Try lying on your side, you'll feel less nauseous.  I can catch her however you want to deliver her."  So I lay on my side, and gave a couple of small, grunty pushes.  That did it - her head was born right away, and her body followed in a rush with a couple more little pushes.  It was 3:30 a.m. on May 14, and I had a daughter. 

They put her on my chest and she started to nurse right away - she nursed for more than an hour, and then they wheeled me to the recovery room.  We were able to leave the hospital the next day and get her home to her eager big brothers and extended family, who welcomed this little one with a particular joy.  She was, and is, a spot of bright light in their, and our, sorrow.

best-laid plans

This is my third six-month maternity leave in four years, and I look at each of these breaks from the office as my chance to play at being a stay-at-home mom.  I picture crafting, going on little day trips, having delicious meals on the table when Jon gets home from work, all of that wonderful stuff.  That's what staying home with little ones is like, right?

But then a couple of weeks ago, Jon came down with a combination of Lyme disease and two other tick-born illnesses (a lot like Lyme, but on steroids) that landed him in the hospital for two days and, between the pain and the painkillers, kept him in bed for about a week.  I haven't seen someone so sick since I studied in Cameroon during college and 11 of my friends came down with malaria.  That sick.  And I was not a very sympathetic nurse - it took about five days before I stopped thinking about how much his illness sucked for me, and started to consider the possibility that it might suck for him more.

But back to it sucking for me - I was operating in survival mode for that week, with no one to help me with bedtimes and grocery shopping and late-night baby wakings.  I was pretty proud of myself if I managed to get the boys breakfast (read: dry Cheerios in front of the tv) or out of the house to the library or playground once or twice.  Jon is much better now, and I have just started to feel like things are somewhat under control again.  Wah wah wah, I know.  But the first six weeks with a newborn are tough enough, without a major health crisis, a home purchase, surgery on the dog, and almost two weeks (!) of well-meaning house guests thrown in.  Last whine, officially.  I promise.  

And, still, my worst day at home is better than my best day at the office.  I mean, really:

 I get to hang out with these lookers all day.  Best job ever.  And we frequently have afternoon dance parties to Thrift Shop in our living room, which they frowned upon at my office.

Now I'm getting ambitious, and packing everyone (including the dog!  Who will hopefully be heavily sedated - maybe we have some leftover Percoset from Jon's treatment) in the van and going to NYC for the weekend.  Finn on the subway - that should be interesting. 

My first three weeks as a mother of three

Conor "reading" to Cass.  Sweetheart.

I've been tip-toeing into this whole mom-of-three thing.  Jon has been home with us until now, but he goes back to work tomorrow, so the real fun should start then.  So far it's been slightly chaotic but manageable - the baby is a dream, especially now that I've figured out how to nurse her (they are each so different!), but the boys are . . . hellions.  If they are left to play together for more than five minutes, they will certainly try to murder each other.  Especially if I am marooned on the couch with a nursing baby and can't get up to stop them.  Is this a boy thing?  A two- and four-year-old combination thing?  Finn, charming as he is, is particularly challenging.  We found this in his room after his last nap:

"I rip Bear Hunt Catch a Big One.  It otay."

No, it not otay.

Anyway, I'm coming out of the newborn fog and want to record some moments from these first few weeks before they are lost for good:

1.  The first time the very alarmed Finn saw me nursing Cass: "Mama!  Her try to eat you belly button!"  (We'll work with him on the finer points of the anatomy of the female torso someday.  Or not.)

First day home.

 2.  After the pediatrician told me that Cass has reflux (like her brothers, ugh.  The spit!  The never-ending spit!) and that I have to cut out all dairy from my diet, Jon's immediate reaction: "Well, at least it's not alcohol."  Truth.

3.   We threw a low-key fourth birthday party for Conor, with store-bought cupcakes, pizza, and a slip n' slide for the kids and a bunch of their cousins.  I didn't hand-make a single thing.  It was a lot of fun, and it seemed like my sleep deprivation hadn't caused too many problems in pulling off the party.  Until the boys opened their little gift bags and dug into the "candy sticks" I had given them:

Do you know what these are?  CANDY CIGARETTES.  Yup.  I was obviously not paying close enough attention.  Oops.  But can you believe they still sell these??!!  Otherwise, happy kids, happy party.

This one is from May 21, his actual birthday.  I just love his little serious face.

4.  Last weekend we went to the annual open house at John Crow Farm to pick up our meat share.  Gorgeous day, great music, free beer, and very happy animals.

Someday I am going to figure out how to make photos look nice and professional on this blog.  Not today.

Why don't the ducks fly away?  Don't they know we are going to eat them?

5.    We bought our first house!  It's totally normal to buy a house and have a baby in the same week, right?  Excellent planning on our part.  I actually think I may have started early labor during the home inspection.  Details to come. 

First Five Favorites

 

Linking up with Hallie to share five favorite things - Newborn Edition!  Sweet baby Cass is three weeks old, so I have newborn items on the brain, and most of these these have seen me through three babies in four years.  Trust me, they rock. 

1.  BumGenius One-Size All-in-One Organic Cloth Diapers

                  

We have used these diapers for four years, and have loyally bought a few more each time we have a baby.  We've pretty much had two kids in diapers at any given time and have needed to occasionally buy new ones to last us between washes, but these things hold up for YEARS.  And how freaking cute is that pattern?

For Cass, we've added Thirsties cloth wipes and Kissaluvs diaper lotion potion to our cloth diapering routine, and they have made it even easier - now everything just goes in the diaper pail, no need to separate out yucky disposable wipes for the trash.  And the bum spray smells wonderfully of lavender. 

2.  Ikabags Stockholm Diaper Bag

I love diaper bags that don't look like diaper bags.  Jon got me this one for Mother's Day this year, and I love it for the summer.  (Side note: I just noticed that bizarro little bear doll in the photo.  It doesn't come with the bag, fyi.)  It has a dozen interior pockets and fits everything somehow.  I do wish the straps were a bit more substantial, but I can live with that small flaw.  And each one is hand made in France, which makes me feel a little more stylish even when I'm wearing yoga pants and a milk-stained t-shirt (so, most days).  And here's my winter diaper bag (slash work bag slash gym bag - this thing may be the perfect bag):

It's from Timi and Leslie, and is a more stocked diaper bag - it has a changing pad, bottle holder, etc.  But NO ONE can tell it's a diaper bag - I can't tell you how many fancy lawyers at my fancy law firm have complimented me on this bag.  Stealth mom.  

3.  Water Wrap

Hiking with 3-month old Conor.

 This is the best wrap for summer babies, hands down.  It's like a Moby, which I also love, but much more lightweight and stretchy so you don't get quite so sweaty.  And it has UV protection.  AND it's waterproof, so you can wear it in the water (not, like, swimming, obviously, because then your baby would drown, but if you want to wade waist-deep in the water with your toddler or something).   Oh, and it's black so it matches all of my (boring, black) outfits.  And it's made by a mom-owned business with the awesome name Gypsy Mama, in Maine.   Win-win-win-win-win.

 

4. Aden & Anais Muslin Swaddles

Put!  A!  Bird!  On!  It!

These are apparently old news by now, but I don't care.  We started using them with Conor four years ago, and are die-hard loyalists.  I buy these for every new mom I know.  They are the only swaddles we've found that actually stay put, and the same blankets we used with Conor and Finn are somehow even softer now than they were four years ago.  Magic.  But we did get this gorgeous pink set as a gift for Cass, and I love the delicate patterns.  See?

Cass loves them too.

5.  This Girl:

All babies are sweet, but this little lady is maybe just the sweetest.  Even hidden under a pile of ruffles (her party dress for Conor's fourth birthday).  I am IN.  LOVE.