One Week

Garrett was one week old yesterday and already I find myself contemplating how time flies by so quickly. I know that when he cries, if I take to long to go get him, by the time I get to his room, he'll be 18. I blinked and a week went by. A few more and he'll be in middle school and then college. I already want those days back. I want to recapture what it was like when he was put on my chest. I want to go back and savor those first few hours. I want to look at him, nonstop, for the rest of my life because I don't want to accidentally miss any of his.I'm convinced that it's physically and emotionally impossible to look down at him, wiggling on my lap, intermittently hiccupping, and not believe that there is a God. I mean, I love my husband and I happen to think I'm a pretty creative person, but there is no way we did this on our own. He's much too precious and he smells too much like innocence and dreams. God did this. We had nothing to do with it.

My Son Is Here

Garrett John is here! He was born on Thursday evening (July 20) at 7:30. He weighed 6 pounds, 10 ounces and was 20 inches long. He's a pretty good baby...so far. It took him a full 24 hours to really find his lungs. I mean, he had them when the pediatric nurse was assessing him but then he forgot about them. Now he knows where they are and how to use them...so much so that he is hoarse. But actually, he doesn't cry often and when he does it's during the day which is great. If he continues to be as great as he has been at night I won't have much to complain about.
Labor was...fun. Alright so, I was induced on Wednesday night at 6:30 because an ultrasound showed that he was possibly a little IUGR (growth restricted) and that maybe we should have him come and eat something. Because my body was NOT ready to be in labor I had to have a medication that would start things moving. So...for the first TWELVE hours I pretty much just laid there in mild pain. At 8:30 am on Thursday morning they broke my water. At noon I was still only dilated to 2. And at this point I'd been laboring for almost 18 hours and about five of those had been no fun at all. So they decided to give me pitocin to make me dilate faster. But praise the Lord and the maker of the epidural...they allowed me to have that first even though I was only at 2. The pitocin worked its magic and I felt fine. It was actually kind of fun to watch the contractions raging on the machine and laugh at them. At 6:30 I was at 10 and the baby was ready to be born. I pushed for an hour and though it was really exhausting it was also really awesome because it was fairly pain free and it's just really cool to see your child being born.
When he was born they laid him on me and it was just so amazing. Troy was a champion too because it took a long time...25 hours is a long time...and he was tired but when it came time to get Garrett out, he was as helpful as any husband could be. I think he'd say I did pretty well too since I only snapped at him once. And that had something to do with my oxygen mask (at one point Garrett's heart rate dropped slightly and they put me on oxygen) getting caught on my ear or something or other. I don't remember exactly but I apologized so he can't hold it against me. Not that he would since I was actively bringing our firstborn into the world.
Alright...I could talk about it forever. I could talk about our very nice roommates in postpartum who we liked but who snored in alternating breaths and whose baby had a fever and shrieked often. I could talk about how said snoring Dad sang the baby a little ditty that never varied and went like this, "Daddy loves his Abby. Daddy loves his little Abigail. Daddy's baby. Yes. Daddy's little Abby," over and over and over and over. No but really, we liked them. I could talk about how awesome it was to have my doctor for the first part of my labor and the most awesome midwife for the second part and the delivery. I could talk about how my nurses were great but the nurse who was there when he was born was just the greatest nurse I could have asked for. I could talk about how amazing it was to have this little boy laying on my chest, staring at me with these huge eyes like he's known me forever and yet doesn't know me at all. Oh wait...I am talking about all of this. And I should be sleeping. I should be sleeping because Garrett is sleeping. More to come because I will never...ever...shut up about this child.
P.S. Maybe you should delete me from your blog subscriptions. Trust me...you're going to get very, very sick of me.

Fish Frenzy

I've had my hair done by the same woman since I was seven years old. When she retires or I relocate I don't know what I'll do. But that's not the point. The point is, she's a very nice person. She does those shampoo and curl kind of things on old ladies and often she picks them up and takes them home. Well, I got my hair cut last week and while I was there she was simultaneously working on a couple of blue haired ladies. One of them needed a ride home. She also needed her bubble slightly adjusted. She was just a trace off center, if you ask me. Now, when Nancy, my hair stylist, informed "little old lady" that she would take her home just as soon as she finished with me, "little old lady" replied that she just needed to make sure she ate something soon. Nice Nancy kindly offered her a yogurt.
A what?
A yogurt.
A what?
A yogurt.
What's in that?
It's a dairy product. Milk, cream, fruit. Would you like one?
Oh ok. Yes. Just as long as there isn't any fish in it.
It is as this point that I literally snicker. And I'm right next to this woman. So I cover it up by saying, "That would be one interesting yogurt." And thus, I have been thinking of rejected yogurt flavors. With "Fish Frenzy" as the definite ring leader.
1. Fish Frenzy
2. Meatloaf
3. Veal Parmigiana
4. Bubble Gum Surprise
5. Pickle
Please, by all means, add to my list.

The End Is In Sight

The baby is due in 23 days. What this means is that, in less than a month, there will be another human being living here. Breathing here. Eating here. Bathing here. Pooping here. Being pregnant is kind of like being in college. You start in August and May just seems so far away. Yet, before you know it you've got a huge pile of work to crawl out from under and a whole bunch of finals to study for. You can see the summer...the promised land...calling from just beyond your last test. It's like that now. The summer is calling but, uh, there's going to be some turmoil first. A little bit of stress. Three weeks ago my play was finished. It was almost Father's Day. That doesn't seem so long ago. And so, in the waiting I start to panic. What if I can't figure out how to give it a bath? It doesn't matter that I've bathed bunches of babies before...I've never tried to clean my own. What if I can't figure out how to feed it. It doesn't matter that I've fed bunches of babies before because I've never fed them in quite the same manner. What if it won't shut up? I can't just...give it back. Here God, this one cries alot. Can you give me the quiet version? He'll laugh and mutter something about paybacks I'm sure.
Okay, I'm not really that scared. To be honest. Childbirth has actually become something that I just want to get over with...not something I am dreading with every fiber of my being. And as far as feeding and bathing, I remind myself that dilinquent teenagers somehow manage to take care of their young, so certainly a college educated quasi-adult such as myself should be able to figure it all out. (Especially since I've been baby sitting since I was somewhere in the neighborhood of ten years old). It's just that...finally...the countdown is really on. As in, they won't stop my labor should it start.
In any case, the baby weighs approximately 5 pounds 10 ounces now...if sonograms are even slightly accurate. My bag is mostly packed--just in case I defy familial odds and the baby strikes early. The nursery is finished...except for one, small detail. And I'm ready for that detail. At least, as ready as can be anticipated.