Ode to Babies

Lately I've been living and breathing and thinking about babies constantly for the first time ever.
I am the seventh of seven and so my experience with newborn babies has been limited to snippets of eyes peeking over mothers' shoulders or chubby little hands waving spasmodically from car seats. I have always liked babies, appreciated their diminutive toes and chubby cheeks in a timid way. I have never loved them- truly adored how amazing they are- until I had my own.

I love babies. All babies. Light, dark, bald, (Asian!), short and squishy, long and lean-- I love them all. The first baby I felt a real connection to was my nephew, Silas. He was a familiar soul to me-- a long lost friend who re-introduced himself as a seven pound ball of bouncing joy wearing colorful hats. After he was born I would stare at newborn pictures of him on Facebook and find myself wishing I could kiss his face and, incredibly and inexplicably, his feet and tongue, the two most disgusting parts of the human body. For the first time, I understood the terrifying words of a crazy aunt, "You're so cute I could just eat you up!! Nom nom nom!" I began to realize that babies, like kittens and small woodland creatures, are adorable. They are innocents; unashamed, completely helpless, totally trusting. I was looking into the astounding depths of a perfectly pure soul. I become breathless at the impossible beauty of it.

While watching Beasts of the Southern Wild there is a four-second scene that shows the most astoundingly gorgeous baby. I watched that scene several times. It transported me to the moment when I met Flynn for the first time, half asleep and under a heavy dose of pain killers and anesthesia. I saw his chin quiver as he cried, feeling cold for the first time. His hands were still blue. He had so much hair. He was so impossibly chubby and he smelled, ah, so familiar, so sweet and so human, like the smell of breathing. He was a part of me, he had come from my body and my brain and every physical part of me knew it. Perhaps it was the drugs but I felt I was floating away, forgetting to breathe and feeling the delicacy of mortality. As I struggled to maintain thought and consciousness I heard Flynn cry, and I felt my soul cry back and I was grounded once again. He was so delicate, so soft and so new. I remembered a dream I had had during pregnancy in which I could remove and replace the baby in my womb at will, and I felt that desire, that wish to protect him from the pricks and sting of life here. At the time it was a frightening and foggy moment, but today it is precious. Because even in that vulnerable state I felt a tenderness toward him that I have never felt toward another human being. A mother knows her child.  To be needed so desperately is a beautiful thing. To love so purely is illuminating.
As an adult I have long ago  forgotten the magical world of my babyhood. Until now I have been engrossed with trivial things and my mind has pruned away shortcuts for joy and wonder. Besides the adorable squishiness, this is what I love most about babies. They allow us to experience these things again. And the world looks wonderful through a fresh pair of eyes.

Two month update

Flynny is two months old! His hobbies include jumping, kicking, staring at the curtains and screaming like a girl- in that order.
He is smiling! He holds his head up like a professional. He is my little teddy bear. We nap daily (and sometimes nightly) together. He likes his hand to be held while he nurses. He loves bath time and having his head rubbed. He is serene and peaceful but he does not appreciate being alone. Every day he gets more handsome. I love him so much it is impossible to contain.

Winsty update: jealousy

You might wonder how Winston has taken this baby business.

The best way to explain is just to say he is behaving exactly as you would expect him to.

Wonder-dummied

Today is my second wedding anniversary.

My life has taken so many unexpected turns since I met Jason. Many were difficult, all of them were right, and they each have strengthened us as a couple and individuals. I didn't know how full and peaceful my life could be until I found someone I love more than myself. As a new mother I feel my capacity for love is never-ending, not only for Flynn but for Jason as well.

Because childbirth is still on my mind, I will say that a long labor and delivery bonded us together like nothing we have ever experienced. I was terrified. Jason got me through it. Not the nurses, not the doctor. My epidural had long since worn off and the only thing that gave me the strength to keep going was him. Our childbirth coach discouraged mothers from focusing on the father's face during labor. I looked at Jason's eyes the whole time and I have never wanted to punch anyone less. He was my lifeline. I needed him. Not for reassurance, but because he and I were the only important people in the world in those moments.

After the nurses had left that night, the only thing I wanted was to hold Jason's hand. Just knowing he was near gave me such comfort.

This is what love really is; trust and hope in the dark moments. I married someone who has given me every reason to look forward to our future, whatever it brings. Each passing day I am filled with wonder at how happy I am to be married to my husband.

I love you, Jase.

Three weeks of Flynn.

Hard to believe!

Bunting and blankets.

These were seriously such a pain to make.

I get impatient, especially with scissors, so my triangles on the bunting and squares on the quilt were not exactly even. This caused problems for me later. I had all kinds of mishaps with my machine because I am really just re-learning how to use it. I had to thread that bobbin so many times I could do it in my sleep now. What a tangled, awful mess!

I am ashamed to say I was ornery and cussed more than I should during this time. And over such small things... The needle becoming unthreaded, my stitches swaying from one side to the next... I am no perfectionist but the number of misfortunes for this project made began to turn me batty.

The crowning frustration came when I accidentally sewed the quilt inside out. After crying about it for a couple days, I unpicked the stitches and re-did everything. I kind of hate this blanket now. Too bad. The Woodland Storyboek fabric is even more adorable in person than I imagined.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

Emerson Flynn: a birth story.

When I woke up on October the fifteenth, I knew it would be your birthday.

It always seemed like such a mystery to me, your arrival. You could have come at any time. How many October fifteenths have I lived through, never suspecting it would be the day you would be born? It was a beautiful day. A good day.

I went to the hospital at 7:15 in the morning to be induced. The nurse was very kind to me. I was shaking and my blood pressure was high-- my heart raced. I was so scared to have you.

It was a long day, as you might imagine. I was never in terrible pain. Your papa was the biggest help with that. He stood by my side and held my hand for 15 hours, right up until the moment you came. I was so tired then. I heard you cry. I felt such profound relief and such grief. Having you was hard. You were such a big baby! I couldn't push you out on my own. The doctor used forceps and the vacuum and you still wouldn't come. Your papa said he saw your head. He said you had a lot of hair, and you did. I wanted to cry but I was too tired. The doctor had to do a c section after 13 hours of labor. I will never stop being sad that you were introduced to this beautiful world so violently.
You won't remember, but you were brave and cried far less than you had a right to while we healed.

When I saw you for the first time your chin was quivering and you were crying as the nurses weighed you on the scale. You were brand new, just taking your first breaths. You weighed ten pounds. You had a black eye and a bruise on the top of your head from the vacuum.
You were so beautiful.
I wondered where you came from, it seemed too impossibly amazing that you could exist. You are more wonderful than I ever could have hoped.

You were worth it.

I love you, Flynn.

Wednesday Winston: swaddle

We are practicing for the baby, and guess who loves it?

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

I listened to my baby's heartbeat for twenty straight minutes today.
Because of the high risk of stillbirth in babies born to diabetic women, my doctor has ordered a bi-weekly, no-stress test. This means that I am hooked up to fetal monitors for almost half an hour while a machine records the heartbeat and movements of my baby.

The nurse placed the heart monitor on my belly in a random spot, and there it was. Almost embarrassingly loud. The whrr-whrr-whrr of a small heartbeat. It quickened with every kick. It slowed when I took deep breaths. I marveled at how attached this tiny person is to me, how my movements and emotions can guide his pulse. And yet he is also independent; I never commanded his heart to start beating. He did that all on his own.

My sister once pointed out that the most amazing point of her pregnancy came when she realized she carried not merely her own, but another heart inside her body. She had, in a sense, TWO hearts. While this realization made my brother feel queasy, I found it enlightening. I remember my first doctor's appointment well. I anxiously awaited that heartbeat, couldn't contain how dumbfounded I was to see its bright flash on the ultrasound screen and to hear its infinitesimal purr. It's a part of me that I can't control. It belongs to him but it is kept alive by me.
Mine but not me. Him but not his.

I love to hear it. It is the beautiful sound of reassurance.
I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
...

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

--e.e. Cummings

Eight months and counting.

Having a baby is no cakewalk.

All my life I wondered with vague curiosity what it would be like to be pregnant, to feel a hiccup or a swift kick to the rib from a baby. I imagined myself on the couch, huge, yelling for ice cream and pickles and complaining in loud angry tones about the pain in my back, the state of my skin, the disappearance of my ankles.

When I felt my baby move for the first time, I was surprised by how unsurprised I was. I felt the tiniest twinge in my abdomen, and I knew. It was like a miniature secret, just between Baby and me. He was there. I knew he existed and he knew, but no one else did. A tiny, magical little secret.
But then my secret started to grow I began to show. I passed people on the street who would give a double-take
glance at my stomach and then give me a knowing smile, like they knew something about me that I had still as yet failed to notice.
In my dreams my pregnant self began to make an appearance. "but I'm pregnant...aren't I?" seemed to culminate every dream, and I would wake up in great confusion with my baby kicking me awake in the ribs and an insatiable sweet tooth. My conversation with the hospital laboratory floated back to me--"The test was positive, you're sure?" the dry voice on the other end of the line responding again and again, "Yes dear, you are definitely pregnant."
You are definitely pregnant.
You are definitely pregnant.

Okay.

Despite my quick acceptance of the actual pregnancy, accepting my new body has been a much more difficult change. At 8 months of pregnancy I caught myself trying to squeeze into a size 4 dress in which I could not even slip my hips. The realization that I'm bigger is not depressing to me-- I'm pregnant after all-- but I do find myself confused, unable to remember what my figure was like when I could wear button up shirts without popping something with my enormous chest. And what was my tummy like? I honestly can't remember. I catch myself thinking, "it hasn't gotten too much bigger" before I remember I have a 4.5 pound baby in there. And then I see a photo of myself and wonder if my head really is that small or if my stomach really is that big.

And nothing, nothing in the world, scares me as much as labor and delivery. When it comes down to the moment, I wonder if I will lose my strength, give up, break down. When I think about how torn up a woman's body is after giving birth, I wonder how millions have done it, are doing it, can stand the pain of it and return for more.
"This is insane!" I've told myself again and again. "You are weak, weak, weak! You can never do this."
And then I feel a nudge in my rib, a tiny tickling of small hands inside. And I know that it is because of him that I can accept what is happening to me, the change, the discomfort, the insecurity. I am meant to bring him into the world and will do absolutely everything I can to fulfill that purpose.

You are definitely pregnant.
You are definitely pregnant.
You have created life; you have the power to do anything.

A tiny, magical secret.

What I've been making-- part three and quite possibly four or five.

Assembly of a nursery is no small thing if you are most women-- especially so if you are me.
We have virtually no money at all so I have had to be careful about what I buy. Almost everything in our house has been bought secondhand or donated by loving family members. There are many things that I wish I could buy, but even so I find myself completely content with what we have. Our little boy will be happy and comfortable and I'm proud of the way things have turned out.

First, the cloud mobile.
I bought some felt from Hobby Lobby and some stuffing and went to work. I hand-sewed everything because at the time I did not have a machine on hand.

Next I made some blankets. I found some really amazing organic cotton prints from Jay-Cyn Design. I messed up the first one and so I turned it into a baby duvet, reverse side is ivy-minky.

I had to hand sew the buttons and buttonholes too because I did not know how to do it on my machine... once again, a huge pain, but cute!

This blanket was much easier.

And here is a partial view of the nursery! It's difficult to get the whole room with just my phone.

We are getting closer and closer to the big day-- hard to believe. I'm not done with everything that I want to do (bunting, perhaps?) but I feel like if my baby comes, we at least have the essentials for him.

It's a good feeling.