Take Two


I haven't had the time or head space to fully indulge my thoughts about the new little soul that joined our family in May. Some days I stare at her round cheeks, her sweet softness, and I wonder why I can't define how amazing she is to me (such is the plight of a parent). I watch her grow, seemingly so much already, and I see the personality I think will develop. Funny how experience can lead to perspective: I see so much more of her personality at this age than I did with Miss M because all I saw with Miss M was a newborn baby since the experience was so alien to me in so many ways.*


Miss A is a straight shot to my ego. She looks like me and could quite possibly be my "Cornish" baby. Her smile comes easy and she loves to talk. I look in to those baby blues and see an old familiar face. I catch her waiting for me to look at her when she nurses. Once I pay attention she gets a googly grin on her face like we're sharing a good joke and I melt entirely in to her friendly way. 

I'm convinced there is no other relationship as intimate as that of a mother and her newborn. I realized this the other day when we spent some time together. Those beautiful quiet moments when all she wants is to be as close to the thing that birthed her as possible. I think she would crawl right back inside me if she could. For now, she nuzzles in to my body and calms. My touch will most likely be the most sound thing she gauges the rest of her life experiences upon. It is quit an undertaking and an honor (even if I completely sound like an egomaniac right now).


Everyone asks and I firmly say, "Yes. She is a 'good' baby." She sleeps well, she eats well, she poops well (a little too much for my liking). What else is there to say. She has begun to talk to me too, which is the true prize at the end of the newborn tunnel. I can't imagine when her words come in what she will say but I'm hoping I still hold her number one spot when she wants to talk (Miss M is encroaching in on this prospect daily). 



Having two kids presents a whole new vantage point with which to view things. Life shattered when I had Miss M and so it seems fitting that it moved more softly and sweetly when Miss A came into the picture. I do lament that each day doesn't present the life-shattering revelations I learned from Miss M's growth but on the flip side I relish most moments more easily the second time around. I wonder whether it's just being a seasoned parent? I can't muster it within myself to run around neurotically and protect miss A from every danger/germ the world presents. Instead I am more open to welcoming the experience of new life. This time around I've been more indulgent about sharing the joys of a baby with others. I stop when I see little old ladies trying to steal a peak. I embrace the connection and coddle the smiles on stranger's faces.


It's fun to watch the sister-friend bond form between these two girls. I can only hope one day they feel the sense of connection and camaraderie that I do with my sister-friends. Last night they were lying on the bed next to each other playing with D and I caught them holding hands. Sure it was more M's action but Miss A has been reaching out to her, acknowledging her more and more each day. I like to think I too played a hand in this new hand holding. In that moment I understood the link that so sweetly ties two people together when they come to know each other over a lifetime: they have a history together and will carry a good deal of the same stories and experiences. I can only hope as we move forward we help to cultivate the type of love that comes naturally with happy siblings, with happy families.


* Gingy too has easily found a shine to miss A (she was nervous to establish one with miss M). Sometimes I find her sleeping in her room at the base of her crib - a thing she never did with M.

Two Hearts Come Together



Sometime, somewhere along the line I read that having a kid is like watching your heart walk around in front of you. It's no secret miss M has lit up my life and having her walk in to the hospital room to meet "Deuce" really tugged at my heart strings - the feeling of my heart exploding, the sheer gladness she was there, and the realization that we had an even bigger bag of love to share now. To see her shine as a big sister and embrace another sweet soul who we get to share our days with makes me truly happy. To our newest member (soon to be officially "blog introduced"): we already love you so much!

Dear Pregnant Ideal of Amy's Future,

I write to you from today for tomorrow, so that I remember wholly your dastardly beautiful ways when I pass some random peach-tree and lament my own unblossomed self. I write to you in anticipation of being in the sage place some friends have spoke to me from, the "oh I miss being pregnant" mentality. I don't miss you the way I think I do (sure time heals all wounds but I know I'm forgetting what you have done to me in the past).

Don't get me wrong, I do love the sweet baby murmurs in my belly. The round protrusion of an unnamed mystery below my shirt. The curiosity and kindness of strangers and the sheer nature of the whole experience. There is no question, you are a miracle of life in many ways. This is not a letter to this part of your experience.

This letter is addressed to your dark side. You, with all your keen hope and promise of great things to come, hide your dark side. It gets ignored at dinner parties, forgotten in the Christmas newsletter, and overlooked by the women who have already traversed your great divide (only to be remembered weeks before any given due date, as they retell the mom-to-be the truths they bore in carrying and birthing their young). I speak of the you hidden in the depths of books only to be discovered after the deed is done. It is also a call to arms against the space erased on the hard drive after the deed has been proportionately blown out of the water by a beautiful new being, now to be known as the first born.

This is for your true victims, the ones with no turning back.

You send the smack down early on and then build from there. We're women, we should be smarter than this but instead we hold out for the "honeymoon stage". I personally have found that you deliver quite well in this department. In fact, the early on is not too hard on me either. So why, you ask, should I complain about the last pesky months? At 9.5 months pregnant, I will tell you.

I hate feeling unable; feeling like I can't lift something over 30 lbs. and thus having to wait for someone to help me do something (this has always been an issue though). I hate feeling like my uterus is falling out of my vagina or that possibly someone snuck a tiny spoon up there to my offspring so she could dig her way out early; she's certainly trying at this point. I hate feeling neurotic; feeling like I can't eat cold deli meat or sushi because I might digest something that will turn my body or my baby sour. I hate having a glass of wine and feeling that silent Catholic guilt about it, like I'll find out in the future about the mistakes I've made today (I've come to be more at peace with this though in my second pregnancy and can only imagine the more children a woman has, the more she plays Wine Roulette). I hate feeling full, like a dung beetle; feeling angst towards a stranger parked too close to my car because I can't squeeze in to reach my seat. I hate strangers who say, "you look like you're about to pop" like it's some novel statement I've never heard... and would be something I'm happy to hear. I hate the guttural sounds coming from strange places in my belly because things are so shifted my colon is now "uptown" so to speak. I hate my inability to control my back end as air moves through my body at a swift rate; I wish I could say the same for liquid, but in that department a pea sized amount chimes each new hour.

Mostly I hate the waddle; the slow movement that makes me feel old and heavy rather than young and athletic. I hate the veins that have become my private battlefield on which we meet (every mother has her own). I hate their bulbous roundness during the day and the sinking lack of skin elasticity when I lay down and make them disappear at night. I hate that my husband wittingly observed that I currently look like I have a nut sack; and upon further investigation, I completely agree with him. I got "racked" the other day for the first time in my life when miss M ran head first into my lap as I was standing up. I now know truths I never wanted to come to know personally.

The general public has no idea what breathes fire under my skin (until this letter appears on the web). I have entered a space where I'm ready to bump chests with anyone thoughtlessly idiotic (and by that I mean not naturally funny people trying to be witty or non-thinkers). I feel the need to educate these people these days; it's a strange thing coming from a non-confrontational patron of life. Perhaps if I end up going rounds with a stranger in the middle of a grocery store, I will remember your manipulative ways and won't need to review this letter at a later date.


I miss my svasana sleeping pose - not needing or wanting the comfort of four pillows to make the night worth it. I miss running and swift movement. I miss chasing my daughter thoughtlessly and not worrying about pulling a ligament. I miss shorts or skirts, or clothes that don't go down to the ankles so I don't scare small children or adults with my blue leg.

There is really nothing left to say (now that I've said nut sack on the blog). I know we are parting ways soon. I know I will reap the benefits of this long run called pregnancy and look back fondly because the little soul that is now forming will be amazing in my eyes. But I will not date you again pregnancy; go find some other girl to be with.

Sincerely (and not just the ramblings of a VERY pregnant woman),
A

Belly Up


It began with a run in September on a dirt road in Indian Mountain with the leaves falling and some light rain. I couldn't keep my stamina up and something felt strange in my abdomen. Ah yes, it all came together as I slowed to walk...pregnant... stopped in my tracks (and I pretty much haven't been on a run since).


What else could happen in a week where we went under contract on a new home and them promptly scrambled to make sense of some crazy loan drama. My faith in myself had been tested; my faith in setting life in to motion and then rising to the occasion had been restored. I realized I should trust in what came our way and trust in myself that I could handle it. 

Two kids, really? Two? I can barely handle call waiting... My cool quotient (already dangerously low) is sure to take another hit. But I'm in this and I will figure it out. If I get all yogic about it, I tell myself life will again morph in to something much more interesting.


It is about time I got around to writing about this little being in my belly and posting some shots. It took me long enough to come to terms with the thought and then I put the pregnancy on auto-pilot so we could get through the move. Just about a month and a half ago I realized/digested I was pregnant...in a strange way. I was at a friend's house when I caught sight of myself in her mirror. I was a little in shock and she did confirm that yes, I was pregnant. It made me realize we didn't have a full length mirror in our new house. I've been looking at myself from the boobs up. Admittedly they were getting bigger but I've always lied to myself about them and pretty much just thought it seemed appropriate... but I digress. After said friend visit, I promptly went home and brought a mirror upstairs from our basement. From that point on, it's been pretty hard to ignore this buddha belly and it's been a whirlwind pregnancy.

This is one of my new favorite uniforms:
a retired Julie Howard skirt. I call myself
Moo Moo Maillet these days
There have been those great first movement moments: the butterfly flutters all the way to the visible stomach fluctuations. The day we found out she was a girl, when I was so intuitively sure she was a boy. Telling friends and family this time around has been more fun because I am not taking the announcement as seriously as I did the first pregnancy. Everything is on a more laid back level.

We don't have a name or a nickname, like "the bird". That's what everyone asks. Truth be told, we haven't really been talking about it. D, who has been staring at me for months now, finally doesn't seem so neurotic in his pursuit of getting a good portion of the inside of the house completed. Though he lost points the other night when I asked him if I really was this big and he just laughing said, "yea" in a moment of unconscious honesty. You know I won't let that comment go; I have filed it next to the conversation, "Miss M said she's Nemo and I'm Dori" to which I replied, "does that make me Marlin?" and he said, "No, you're Bruce." Bruce (the larger than life "alcoholic" shark)? Okay I might be a little Bruce, especially pregnant.

I'm 9 months this week. I have no nursery set up. Something clicked just yesterday on the heels of falling asleep hot and waking up in nesting mode. We are tracking towards the finish line people. A new little lady is headed our way.

I think about how much joy miss M has brought us and I can't imagine what this new little soul will add to our dynamic. I couldn't fall asleep a few nights ago because I realized miss M might be devastated by this change. Inevitable change that I cannot undo; and I don't want anything to change between M and I. I don't want the slightest dip in the joy she exudes. I temper these feelings with the lovely thought of a little sibling for her to play with and teach. She is at that stage where any baby is "so cute" and steals her attention from the task at hand. I like to imagine she'll fall for our new member as wholeheartedly (but I might purchase a frog or fish as a back-up plan). I read a sentiment from Tina Fey the other day that said, "the first child looks at you lovingly; the second child wants you to move out of the way so they can look at their older sibling." It made me lament the love affair I've had with the old girl (knowing I might not have the same time/space continuum with the new one) but then again I also know full well how it feels to look up lovingly to a big sister and, like the moon, it really it is something special.


Our family has been through quite a transition these past six months, which helps make me feel less guilty about not spending this incubation period writing blog entries and posting belly shots of round two. I guess it's not uncommon to find other things to do with your time rather than stare at your belly once you've been through it before. This time I feel older and slower and more tired. There are those brief "rockin' the pregnancy" moments but for the most part, when I'm not hefting myself out of a bed or a chair or away from work on the computer, I'm hanging my legs up to relax. No worries (with three weeks left on the clock), I know once I meet this little lady it will all be worth it.