The most wonderful time of the year, or know thy limits

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. It was...Thanksgiving 2011.

I worried how E would handle Thanksgiving and Christmas this year. Mostly, I was concerned about his sleeping. Now I know that there are so many other things to worry about!

For Thanksgiving, we traveled during naptimes, and E slept reasonably well in the car - hooray! However, after a few hours of socializing and people and chatter and attention, the little guy was so wired, he couldn't fall asleep that night.

His normal bedtime (4:45 now, or 5 if I'm running late) came and went, and he was nowhere near ready for sleep, though not because he wasn't tired. He was exhausted, but the overtired state is complicated for babies. Babies have a lot of trouble falling asleep when they are overtired.

After much rocking, crying, and hand chewing, he eventually fell asleep around 7. We were both pooped.

Meanwhile, the extended day away from home combined with E's super-late (for him) bedtime messed with my pumping schedule. Thanksgiving night, I felt feverish and sore and decidedly unwell. By the next morning, a call to the doctor confirmed my fears - I had developed mastitis.

I haven't felt that bad since I had the flu. I felt like I had been hit by a truck. B had to delay his work day and my parents had to come up and watch E because I could barely get out of bed, let alone take care of a baby. I started on an antibiotic and round-the-clock Motrin and was starting to feel more like a human within a couple days. I just took my last antibiotic today and feel completely better.

We learned our limits. I now know not to push the time between pumping sessions. And we now know that 3 hours is too long for E to socialize.

I apologize now to everyone we'll be seeing for Christmas. We'll show up, but we won't be able to stay long. I hope by next year, we'll be able to resume more of our holiday activities.

To procreate or not to procreate

This was the question I asked myself many times before B and I plunged into parenthood.

We (ok, I) deliberated long and hard for years and years about whether having a child was the right decision for me.

The difficulty with this decision is that you can easily identify the negative aspects involved in becoming a parent, but the positive aspects are more difficult to understand, particularly when you hear such wishy-washy wisdoms as "Your life will never been the same - for the better!" and "You don't understand your purpose on earth until you become a mother!"

So, let's start with what I knew. I knew that our lives would change. I knew I would get less sleep. I knew that vacations would be more difficult and that simple things that we took for granted, such as running out to the store, would no longer be as easy. I knew that our days of sleeping in and watching TV on a rainy afternoon would be over, for a while, anyway. I knew that my time would not really be my own anymore and that my priorities were going to shift dramatically.

I thought I was prepared for all the difficulties, but the truth is, you can't even begin to fathom the challenges until you experience them. Everything that you think will be hard is actually much harder than you expected. I've done my best to convey this information in previous postings, so I won't belabor the details again.

Because this post isn't going to be about how difficult it is to be a parent. I've written a lot about that, and for this post, I want to talk about the good stuff that comes when you become a parent. If you are on the fence about being a parent, you might benefit from my attempt at clarifying the wishy-washy wisdom.

Here is my clarification: In short, it feels good to be a parent. When you create an environment in which your child is happy and is thriving, you feel like a better person. You receive positive affirmation every time your child smiles at you or laughs because of something you did, whether you thought it was funny of not. In life, there are few opportunities to receive positive affirmation so many times in a single day. Imagine receiving 60 compliments in an hour? That's what it's like to take care of a smiling baby!

Every time your child reaches a milestone, from rolling over to sitting up to swallowing his first mouthful of mashed peas, you feel proud of yourself because the achievement happened under your love and care. Every time your child does something cute, you wish you could capture it in a little bubble and relive it over and over again, and again, you feel pride that your offspring has done something so memorable and wonderful. (On a side note, you sort of lose your mind regarding the awesomeness of your child's achievements and think that everything from a hiccup to a toe grab is the cutest thing ever, so you get to experience these moments all the time.)

Every time your child does something that reminds you of yourself, you receive more positive affirmation. After all, if there are two of you in the world doing the same thing, it must be a good idea! And when someone compliments your baby's cuteness or good behavior or skills, you feel as if the person is complimenting you.

When you sneak into your baby's room at night to watch him sleep (and perform your paranoid-mom is-he-still-breathing check), you feel wonder that you and your partner created the most perfect human being on earth, and you feel grateful that you have 18 years with him before he leaves and starts his own life away from you.

And part of you looks forward to that time, when you can sleep in again, vacation easily, shop when you want to, watch TV on a rainy day, and call your time your own. But part of you knows that no matter how difficult the 24/7 parenting days might be, you will miss them when they're gone, and so you try not to focus on the difficult parts and try to enjoy all the smiles and giggles and hugs.

You have the right to remain silent

B and I were discussing our significantly scaled-back social lifestyle recently and decided that having a baby is a little like being placed under house arrest.
Sure, sometimes we leave the house. On weekends, we usually take turns. One person goes to the grocery store, and another person gets the oil changed. (Or B goes to the grocery store and then gets the oil changed - whichever.)

When my parents are kind enough to babysit the little man on weekends, we both can leave the house together. Sometimes we even (gasp!) go to a restaurant. Usually we run errands. I know, I know--contain your envy.

Rarely do we both leave the house with E, as he usually falls asleep and then his naps for the rest of the day are thrown off.

Knowing that this lifestyle is somewhat self-inflicted makes it a little easier to tolerate. A few months ago, after reading several books about infant and child sleep, I chose to put E's naps first whenever possible. And so we do, but my goodness, it's difficult.

How do we cope with this huge lifestyle adjustment? First, we accept that it's how our lives are going now, but it's not how they will always go. We hope that by the time E is down to 1 nap per day (which usually happens between 12 and 15 months), we'll have a little more freedom.

Second, we buy as much as we can online. Amazon is my new best friend. I joined Amazon Mom, which is a free program that offers 2-day shipping on nearly everything. (It's amazing.)

And finally, we do our best to enjoy this time with E. Life with a new baby presents many challenges, but witnessing these early months and all his discoveries and firsts is pretty amazing. He gets more and more charming every day.

And some day, we will be able to take him out so he can show off this charm to the rest of the world.

A twenty-six moo salute

Today marks twenty-six weeks from E's birth. This occasion should be celebrated: I have achieved my pumping goal.

I have pumped at home, at other's homes, and in hotel rooms. I have pumped in parking lots, on highways, and by the side of the road. I have pumped at work.

I have pumped in the middle of the night and in the middle of the day. I have pumped while E napped, and I have pumped while trying to juggle a crying E. I have woken forty-five minutes early for the past 6 months so that I could pump. I have stayed up later than I wanted to so that I could pump.

I overcame the challenges that arose so that I could continue pumping. I pumped during an earthquake, a hurricane, and a snowstorm. I pumped during a 50-hour power outage. I pumped when I left my charging plug behind in a New York hotel room. I pumped after my first pump wore out and I had to get a replacement.

I pumped for hours a day, every day, for the sake of my baby, with the help, assistance, and encouragement of family and friends, and especially of B, who supported me in my goal, despite its numerous inconveniences.

So what now? I'll keep going, for a little while at least. I recently reduced my daily pumping sessions to 3 and consequently have to thaw some of the stockpiled supply to keep E fed each day. Probably by the end of the month, we'll start supplementing with formula. Eventually, I'll drop to 2 pumping sessions, and then 1, and then stop completely, whenever I decide that I've done as much as I want to, and we'll switch to 100% formula. By then, E will be eating more solids and won't be drinking quite as much as he is now.

To all my pumping sisters, both full- and part-timers, I raise my single, small, celebratory drink to you.

Phantom baby cry

Perhaps you've heard of phantom limb, a sensation in which an amputated limb seems still to be attached to your body. I've uncovered a similar phenomenon: phantom baby cry.

Phantom baby cry manifests itself in several ways. When you're sleeping and your baby starts and then stops crying, you continue to hear the crying in your head. Only when you look at the baby monitor and see that it is not lighting up like the Fourth of July do you realize that your baby has settled down and is no longer crying. Yet you continue to hear the crying in your head.

Phantom baby cry doesn't always begin with your own baby crying, though. Any sound that resembles your baby's cry, such as children playing outside, certain types of music, and even birds, can trigger it, and then you stare at the baby monitor, trying to figure out if your baby is in distress.

I first experienced phantom baby cry in the hospital after delivering E, and it interrupted my sleep then as much as it does now. I simply cannot return to sleep after experiencing phantom baby cry.

I am hopeful that phantom baby cry will fade, just as the baby-in-the-bed dreams have mostly gone away. In the early days, I woke several times per night to B patting, hugging, and jiggling a pillow, attempting to soothe it because he thought it was E. Other times, he'd wake in a panic, patting around the bed looking for E until I explained that he was in his crib. These moments were somewhat funny until I started having the same dreams, waking up and thinking that I had lost E in the bed.

Anyway, the baby-in-the-bed dreams mostly went away when E started sleeping in his own room, and I hope that when E's sleep becomes a little more predictable and less fraught with tears, phantom baby cry will go away.

Please let it go away...

My latest obsessions

And now for some non-baby chatter.

My latest obsessions...

Pandora
I'm late to the party on this one, but I'm rarely an early adopter of anything, so no surprise there. Pandora, if you are also late to the party, lets you create your own radio stations. You start with an artist, a song, or a genre, and by liking or disliking music, you can take your station in just about any direction. Or if you want a low-touch experience, you can skip the liking and disliking and listen to what they throw at you.

I have been going through phases. For a while, it was Time to Say Good-bye radio, and I walked around the house pretending to be an opera singer. (I suspect that B is glad that my Sarah Brightman phase has passed - for now.) Now I'm listening to Halleluja radio; I think I could listen to that song all day.

My Billy Joel station is also a fav.

Having a working cell phone
Perhaps "obsession" is too strong of a word. In fitting with my what-is-technology theme, I use a Blackberry that B bought before we were married. About a month ago, I learned that it was no longer receiving incoming calls. Shortly after, I found I could not send text messages.

Unfortunately, this situation is no longer tolerable. I need to be reachable, and I'd like to be able to send text messages. Maybe I'd even like to take a picture or two.

B and I decided that we'd buy new iPhones when the iPhone 5 came out, except...yeah, the iPhone 5 didn't come out. I decided I could live with the bargain-priced iPhone 4, and B ordered the 4S for himself, and our new phones should arrive in the next week or two.

I have mixed feelings about this purchase, considering my new phone is a year old, and do I really want to jump on the bandwagon before the rest of the world has had a chance to vet it, but I am taking a gamble on Apple. Apple, don't make me regret this decision.

My Kindle
I bought my Kindle over a year ago but didn't start appreciating it until E came along.

I went back to work after 6 weeks of leave (a story that I suppose I ought to share, perhaps sometime, if I'm feeling very brave), and B stayed home with the little man for a while. B watched him during the day, and I took over at 4 o'clock, after my workday ended. Part of the evening involved, obviously, putting E to sleep.

I wanted E to learn to fall asleep on his own, but this task is not an overnight process. I'd rock him, and then I'd put a drowsy-but-awake baby into his crib to see if he could fall asleep on his own. If he started to cry, I'd pick him up and start rocking, and try putting him down again in a few minutes.

Sometimes he'd fall asleep, only to wake up a few minutes later and need more rocking.

This process could easily take a half hour at night, sometimes more, in a darkened room. My Kindle and its booklight-equipped cover provided me with entertainment and an opportunity to do something that I enjoyed each day while teaching E a valuable skill.

The Fremont Jones books by Dianne Day will probably always remind me of that time period, as they were my main entertainment. I ran out of Fremont books and have since moved on to the Mary Russell books by Laurie King. Both books feature strong female protagonists who investigate crime. I would more strongly recommend the King books, particularly if you are a fan of Sherlock Holmes.

Buying a Kindle has transformed the way that I buy and think about books. Before, I carefully considered every book acquisition because I would need to find a place to store it, and our bookshelves are already full. Now that my books are digital, I can buy as many as I want and never have to worry about storage.

My book expenses have, needless to say, skyrocketed. On the other hand, since my clothing is frequently covered in drool, snot, and spitup, my clothing purchases have been radically reduced. Why buy nice stuff if it's only going to get baby-gooped?

I miss Anthropologie...

Baby as handbag and other misconceptions

We booked E into a daycare center before we told family and friends that I was pregnant. I had heard about lengthy waiting lists and didn't want to be stuck without daycare options for him.

At our orientation, we learned that they were open from 7 AM to 6 PM. These hours gave us pause.

In the olden days (pre-Rooster), we both left the house before 7, and B always got home around 6:30. Depending on traffic, I usually got home between 5 and 6, but epic traffic days could involve a 2-hour ride home and an unpredictable arrival time.

For pickups after 6 PM, the center charges $1 per minute. Timeliness is of the essence at the end of the day.

We realized we were going to have to make adjustments in our lives. At the time, I reasoned that B could take the later train, dropping E off at 7 AM on the dot, and I could pick E up, arriving by 6 each night. In my mind, I thought of E a bit like a handbag that one could drop off and pick up at will and who would happily adjust to whatever schedule we needed to keep for work.

Parents of babies, feel free to snicker at my naivete. I certainly do.

After E came along, reality set in, and I realized that a baby is not at all like a handbag and he does not happily adjust to anything unless it's something that he wants.

I now know that his being at daycare from 7 AM to 6 PM would be difficult, if not impossible, since he usually does not wake up until 6:45 or 7 AM and usually goes to bed for the night between 5 and 5:30.

Yes, he really goes to bed for the night at that time, and he sleeps the whole night through (in his crib!) without needing a feeding. We have a sleepy baby.

In other sleepy news, he needs 3 naps a day. Most but not all babies eliminate the third nap by 9 months. If I had to guess, I'd say that E is going to be one of those babies who still needs a third nap.

He can't be awake for more than 2 hours without needing another nap, and 2 hours is pushing it. Usually, he needs to sleep after being up for an hour and a half.

As a result, we are frequently housebound. Sure, we could take him out in the car, and he'd fall asleep, but he wouldn't have a good nap; he'd wake up frequently; and any sleep that he might have had in his crib would be lost. I feel guilty doing that to him.

So we stay home almost all the time. If we need to run an errand, one person goes, or my parents watch Eli while we leave together.

Did I expect to be housebound for the first year of E's life? No, certainly not. Again, I thought he'd be like a cute, smiling handbag that one could take about during one's day, and that he'd nap when it was convenient for me.

On the plus side, E is more charming than I anticipated, and he brings me more joy and happiness than I expected. Every night before bed, I peek into his room and see him curled up on his left side, sleeping away, and I smile and say thanks that he's in my life. When I go into his room in the morning after he's woken up and he smiles up at me and is genuinely happy to see me, I accept the tradeoff that I've made - freedom gone, but new joy discovered. The sacrifices are worth it.

And I am grateful that B and I had 6+ wonderful, travel-filled, and delightful years before we undertook this adventure.

Successes, tempered by horrific frozen breast milk

A couple weeks after we got home from the hospital with little E, one or both of us went grocery shopping. (Those first few weeks are hazy in my mind.) When we (or B) returned, we brought in groceries and had nowhere to put them because on the counter were two dishtowels, covered in drying bottle and pump parts. We had to put the grocery bags on the floor and unload them from there.
I remember thinking, "Is this how my life is going to be from now on?"

The answer is, yes! Life is, in general, more difficult with a mini human. But we are learning to adapt.

For instance, with regard to the counter, we've figured out that we can fit said bottle and pump parts on one towel. And now that I pump less frequently, we don't have to run the dishwasher two or three times per day, so there are occasionally stretches of time in which there are no drying parts. That having available counter space in our kitchen is a success is testament to how carefully one will look for anything resembling success during trying times.

Another success is E's sleep, not that we can take credit for a sleepy baby. He started sleeping through the night at a young age. We can take credit for breaking two habits (which, in the interest of full disclosure, we imposed upon him)--sleeping in his swing, and sleeping in a swaddle. I worried on a daily basis about how we were going to get him into his crib and out of his swaddle. Last week, feeling inspired (ok, guilted, whatever) by daycare, I declared to B that E was sleeping in his crib that night. And he did.

Did he sleep through the night? No! He woke up frequently. However, we turned the baby monitor off, and I put in ear plugs, so my night was not too horribly interrupted.

Perhaps you think I am a neglectful mom for being honest about our sleep training. However, I read Weissbluth's book about childhood sleep twice, and he convinced me that his "extinction" method is the best way to break babies of bad sleep habits. Teaching E how to fall back to sleep on his own is a skill that he will need for the rest of his life, and the sooner he learns it, the better off he will be.

He's been in his crib, sans swaddle, for about a week now, and it's going well. Last night he was awake between 4:30 and 5, singing to himself. I'm considering turning the hated baby monitor off for good, but I'm worried I won't wake up if he starts crying and something is genuinely wrong.

(In case you're interested in sleep training, I highly recommend reading a book about it. Some people are under the mistaken impression that sleep training means that you can put your baby down if he's crying and you don't want to deal with him, or that you never go to your baby when he cries, or that you don't have to do your part to get your baby ready for sleep. I recommend learning the rules before you play the sleep-training game.)

One final success is pumping, though even that success is tempered with the horror of spoiled breastmilk. B has already covered this story well in his blog, so I won't go into much detail, but we spent over an hour last night defrosting, sniffing, and dumping an entire month's worth of frozen milk. Tonight we work our way through August's milk and hope that not all of it has turned soapy/metallic/horrific.

This post is as scattered as my mind is lately.

Achy breaky mom

I gave birth over four months ago, but I'm not finished with my pregnancy rants yet.

I expected to be a little creaky during pregnancy, when everything spreads out a little. But I expected the creakiness to be over after little E greeted the world.

The creakiness did not end. In fact, it only got worse.

I feel as if I have aged 30 years in just a short period of time. My knees ache when I walk up the stairs. My first steps of the day after getting out of bed are tentative, delicate, and painful. My joints crack when I walk. This is my reward for giving new life?

A quick internet search revealed that I am not alone with my achies, and they might be related to breastfeeding, a painful irony to accept. Isn't the breastpump punishment enough? Must I feel arthritic, too?

Motherhood: Not for wimps.

Spitup saturation

Events in recent weeks have led me to ponder thoughts that have never crossed my mind. For instance: How much spitup needs to be on my shirt before I decide I have to change it? How long will it take before the carpet in the second-floor hallway is completely worn down from my pacing back and forth, trying to get E calm enough so that he can fall asleep? Most importantly: When I am ready to stop pumping, can I throw my breast pump into a bonfire and watch it burn, baby, burn?

Deep thoughts for a Friday morning.

News in the world of Little Man...

Playing
He's sort of grabbing toys now. Significance of this milestone: He is now sort of interactive. Emphasis on the "sort of."

Muscular development
We are seeking treatment for his crooked neck (medical term: torticollis). Torticollis occurs more frequently in boys and is more common now that babies sleep on their backs rather than their stomachs. Before he entered the world, E was in the same position for the majority of my pregnancy, so it's not surprising that his head tilts one way.

The issue been present since birth but seemed to be getting worse, so now we have a nurse/personal trainer coming to the house to stretch him out and help him strengthen the weaker side of his neck. We also have stretches and exercises that we do with him every day. We've already seen an improvement in his neck strength and range of motion.

Schedule
We're off the old schedule. I didn't like waking E up from naps. He didn't like it either. Now he sleeps more and almost never cries. (Except when he gets overtired or is not ready to be put in his crib for sleeping.)

Bonus: Since we no longer wake him at 6 AM, we get the chance to sleep in a little bit. And he's sleeping much better in his crib now that he's sleeping when he wants to sleep.

Downside: Everything's a bit more loosey goosey these days, until he becomes more consistent with his sleeping. (Allegedly, he should do that by 12-16 weeks. At 14 weeks, he is not yet there.) However, he still goes to sleep between 5:30 and 6 each night, so our evenings still belong to us.

School
E has been attending daycare three days per week for the last two weeks. He picked up a cold in his first week. He might have another cold now, after his second week (or maybe he's just not over the first one?) Our pediatrician assures us that this is just the beginning of his immune system becoming stronger. The sad truth is that even though I like to pretend that I am Wonder Woman, his eating my breastmilk has not turned my son into Superman, and he is still susceptible to colds just like all other kids.

His first day of school was difficult for me, but dropping him off is getting easier. My wanting to be back at work has certainly helped that situation.

Hungry

I am 42.9 percent of the way toward completing my 6-month pumping goal. Precise, yes, because I run this calculation nearly every day. One does what one must to keep going.

B is fond of presenting to me hypothetical situations that require a choice, and I am generally unable to choose. However, I presented such a situation to myself the other day and found that the choice was surprisingly easy.

Would I rather pump for 6 months or go through labor again?

I choose labor. If labor could somehow produce 6 months' worth of the best nutrition for little E, I'd take it in a heartbeat over pumping. (Assuming, of course, that I could get an epidural.)

But I don't really have that choice, so I continue to pump and to deal with the inconvenience, physical discomfort, and the feeling that my body is not really my own.

And I have to deal with the hunger. I thought that I was extra hungry during pregnancy, when you're supposed to eat 200-300 extra calories per day. Having to consume an extra 600 calories per day is unexpectedly difficult.

I'm hungry all the time. Only on several occasions in the last 11 weeks have I felt really, truly full. (Side note: Both times occurred after large meals of hot salted meat.) I have to eat several breakfasts and lunches each day, and I consume ice cream at night by the gallons. (Ok, usually by the pints--I am an ice cream snob.)

I eat as much as B does, sometimes more. He hasn't been able to finish one of my meals in ages. Sad for him, perhaps, though I think he doesn't mind the nightly ice cream.

My body's increased calorie burning did mean that I lost my 30 pounds of pregnancy weight very quickly. I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight, though not my pre-pregnancy size. My waist and hips are both 2 inches bigger than they used to be. I suspect that this change is permanent. My pants still fit, thank goodness (you have no idea how difficult it is for me to find pants), but I have had to say good-bye to most of my fitted dresses.

As for my feet, I'm not sure if they've changed. I haven't got around to trying on all my shoes yet, but the shoes I wear all the time still fit. I bought my first pair of post-pregnancy shoes recently and had to go a size up (11 now--gah), but they run small, so it's tough to say whether my feet have really grown.

I had sort of been hoping that my feet would get bigger so I'd have an excuse to throw out all the uncomfortable shoes I have and start over. Perhaps the hidden animosity I have toward them is reason enough to get rid of them and start anew.

Useful baby books

I wanted to share the books that have helped guide us along the parenting path.

The Contented Little Baby Book
Does the idea of putting your baby on a schedule appeal to you? Do you like the idea of knowing that you'll have several predetermined chunks of time each day to yourself?

If so, consider checking out Gina Ford's book. She's a famous nanny in Britain, and lots of British (and now American) parents have adopted her ideas.

Most books say that you can't put a newborn on a schedule. However, we've had a lot of success. Sure, everything doesn't always go as planned, and sometimes he falls asleep earlier than he's supposed to or wakes up before he's supposed to, but we do our best to get back on track and usually can.

If the idea of a highly structured day is overwhelming to you or if you are committed to feeding your baby on demand, no matter the time of day, don't bother reading this book. But if you like the idea of only 5-7 feedings per day and of getting your baby to sleep through the night at a young age, check it out.

(For the record, Rooster is not yet sleeping through the night, but most nights, we get a 5-hour stretch, which is good for a 7-week-old.)

The Happiest Baby on the Block
This book frequently offers opposite advice from Gina's book. The author says that there's no way you can put a baby on a schedule until at least 8 weeks and that your job as a parent is to adapt your life to your baby and do what he wants.

The book focuses on getting your baby to stop crying, theorizing that a non-crying baby will sleep well. The author offers a few ideas that we know that Gina would pooh-pooh, but they work for us.

For instance, Gina says that the baby should sleep in his crib, as sleeping elsewhere will encourage him to develop bad sleeping habits that you will then have to correct down the road. However, she doesn't address what to do when your baby will sleep for only 30 minutes at a time in his crib. The Happiest Baby book tells you to let your baby sleep in his swing, all night if necessary, until 4 or 5 months or whenever he is ready to move back to his crib.

We put Rooster in his crib for each nap, and sometimes he sleeps there the entire time, but most of the time, he wakes up crying after only a half hour. At that point, we calm him down and put him in his swing, where he sleeps like a contented little baby for the rest of his nap (not always, but most of the time).

You do what you must to get sleep.

Another side note--at some point, you will have an inconsolable, screaming baby on your hands. And the tricks in the Happiest Baby book will get him to stop crying. Buy this book, learn about the 5 S's, and your baby will cry less.

What to Expect series
These books are great for the paranoid preggo and mom who wants to know every bad thing that could possibly happen and who wants to commit many hours to reading the books cover to cover, as the books are not designed to be scanned or used as reference material.

Are the books useful? Sometimes. Are they annoying? Definitely. You make the call about whether you can handle their overcautiousness.

The Baby Owner's Manual
If you have very little experience handling babies, consider buying this book. Most baby books provide theoretical information, but this book provides step-by-step instructions for all your baby-related tasks, from getting into breastfeeding positions to giving a sponge bath. Plus it's well-written, scannable, and fun.

Am I biased because I have written a few manuals myself (admittedly, not nearly as fun as this one)? Perhaps. But I suspect that this book is appealing to non-technical writers, too.

Baby 411
We bought this book on our Kindle, a decision that I regretted at first, as it's enormous and the Kindle does not allow for easy scanning. However, the Kindle has a Find feature, allowing us to search the book when we have questions about anything from cradle cap to thrush.

The book provides a lot of detail, perhaps too much. Reading it while I was pregnant gave me nightmares. Purchase if you want too much information about everything or if you want a comprehensive reference book.

Milk Memos
If you want to know how what it's like to return to work and still try to breastfeed your baby, consider buying this book. It will also provide encouragement if you are pumping.

Great expectations

B is frequently frustrated by my inability to play "Let's Pretend." He enjoys throwing out hypothetical situations to find out what I'd do in them. Invariably, I respond to his questions with more questions, probing for details, and in the end, my answer is usually, "I don't know," or "That sounds unlikely to happen."

My brain just doesn't process hypotheticals.

It should come as no surprise, then, that I had no idea what to expect from my new role of "mother," so I didn't think I had many expectations before entering this new role. However, I apparently did have some expectations, perhaps unspoken even to myself, because I am constantly surprised by my new role.

Here are a few areas that have taken me by surprise in the last month or so.

Fun
The secret that no one tells you is that the first few weeks of parenthood aren't much fun. People hide this knowledge in statements such as, "It gets better," or "It gets easier." What they're really saying is, "There are limited opportunities for fun in the beginning."

Sure, there are elements of fun and wonderful, particularly when your baby is cute and provides you with adorable photographable moments of cuteness explosions. But a lot of the time, it's diaper blowouts at 3 in the morning and the need to change the bedding and the diaper and swaddle blanket of a screaming newborn.

That situation probably doesn't sound like fun--because it isn't! 

Now when people tell me, "Oh, the early days are so much fun," my answer is, "Actually, they're not that much fun." And it's amazing how the conversation changes afterward! Invariably, the woman (because men do not feel the need to pretend that newborns are a barrel of laughs all the time) lowers her voice and admits that she herself did not enjoy the early days that much, and then she offers the age when the fun actually begins (usually somewhere in the 2 to 4 month range).

I am doing my best to maintain an even keel until the fun increases. It must get better, or people wouldn't have multiple children.

Baby blues
They warned us in childbirthing class about the baby blues, and naturally, I assumed that I would be immune to them.

This situation illustrates the danger of inflated self-confidence.

The baby blues usually start a couple days after the birth of your baby and are the result of your hormones going haywire. You can go from laughter to tears within minutes and have very little control over your emotions.

I first experienced the baby blues when I nearly started crying while we were leaving the hospital. Make no mistake--I couldn't wait to get home. But actually walking down the hallway with Rooster in his carrier, knowing that we'd soon be flying solo with him, left me overwhelmed.

Many situations left me overwhelmed those first couple weeks. I cried...a lot. A couple times, I felt like I couldn't stop crying, a scary situation because the baby blues can turn into postpartum depression.

Now, four weeks later, my baby blues are mostly gone. I still get overwhelmed taking care of a newborn by myself while B is at work, but I feel like I am much more in control of my emotions. I think that my baby blues were very closely tied with my physical recovery, another unexpected result of this thing they call childbirth...

Lengthy recovery time
I did not expect to be in so much pain following the birth. I thought that lengthy recovery times were for c-sections only. Wrong!

In the days following Rooster's birth, I could barely get out of bed. I watched the clock religiously and requested my Motrin every 6 hours. Two weeks later, I was still taking Motrin and walking like a bit of a gunslinger.

A month later, I still have not fully recovered. During pregnancy, I thought that classifying pregnancy leave as a short-term disability was a little odd, but now I understand because I genuinely do feel like I am physically disabled much of the time.

It seems awfully unfair to have to deal with the physical recovery from birth at the same time that you have to learn how to take care of a newborn, but that's the way it is. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have B. Single mothers, you amaze me.

Breastfeeding difficulties
Breastfeeding is natural and easy, right? You and the baby instinctively know what to do, and your baby gains weight and thrives with very little effort from you while you still manage to get lots of sleep.

That's how it's sold, anyway. The reality was quite the opposite.

My baby didn't know what to do, he only lost weight, and no one got any sleep.

I've already written about this subject, so I won't belabor the point, but anyone who says that breastfeeding is easy is either extremely lucky or is lying.

Exhaustion
I knew I'd be tired. I just didn't know what tired really felt like until now. I leave a room to grab something and forget what I needed. I start sentences and stop speaking in the middle because I've forgotten what I was going to say. I forget how much milk I put in Rooster's bottle. I find my eyelids getting awfully heavy while I'm rocking and feeding Rooster.

Sleep is at a wicked premium in our house these days (for everyone except Rooster, that is). Getting 6 hours of sleep--not consecutively, mind you, total--in a day is now a luxury.

We are lucky that he wakes up only twice each night and that he is rarely fussy during the night. (He saves that behavior for me during the day.)

Apparently, it will get easier.

Moo

We've had some challenges, our new family, during this "transition" period. One of the biggest challenges has been feeding our child.

I was committed to feeding breastmilk to Rooster, but he and I had some difficulties with breastfeeding. He had trouble latching, so I got a shield, which helped somewhat, but he still had a terrible latch that left me in pain. If I removed him, he wouldn't relatch, so I had two options--deal with the pain, or let him starve. I did my best to suck it up and deal with the pain.

At the hospital, we had several visits with lactation consultants. The visits were unpleasant at best, traumatic at worst, leaving Rooster screaming and no more able to eat than he had been before. Seeing my baby being manhandled in an attempt to get him to eat left me feeling resentful and angry towards these women and made me distrust lactation consultants.

I also felt like I was a challenge rather than a human being to them. "I'm going to get him to eat without the shield," one consultant declared on our last day at the hospital, grabbing hold of his neck and of me and leaving both of us in frustrated and in pain. (She did not succeed. I knew she wouldn't.)

It was the visiting nurse, who stopped by the day after we got home from the hospital, who put the final nail in the breastfeeding coffin. She brought her portable scale and weighed him, and he had lost weight since leaving the hospital.

"Feed him every two hours," she recommended.

Something you should know about this "every two hours" recommendation--it doesn't mean that you feed him, and then two hours from the end of the feeding, you start again. No, no, no. If you start feeding at 10 PM, your next feeding begins at midnight, even if your 10 PM feeding takes 45 minutes (or longer!).

Further complicating matters was that it took two of us to attempt to get both Rooster and me into the right position for a feeding, so B, Rooster, and I spent one horrible, sleepless night with lots of tears and screaming (mostly but not exclusively from Rooster). At the end of each feeding, Rooster and I were covered in breastmilk, but very little actually made it into his belly.

The next day, we started charging the breastpump. It took 24 hours to charge, so we all suffered another horrible, sleepless night during which I felt guilty for (gasp!) going 2 1/2 hours between feedings so that I could get maybe 30 minutes of sleep at a time.

Finally, the breast pump was charged. The first time I pumped was a glorious, wonderful experience. Rooster drank the contents of the bottle in about 5 minutes and was ready for more when he finished. For the first time in days, he looked like a content baby.

As for me, I felt free for the first time since his birth. "You mean," I asked rhetorically, "I can still feed him breastmilk, but don't have to breastfeed in public? Other people can feed him, too? I can leave the house and not worry about taking his food supply away? We'll know exactly how much he's eating? Sign me up!"

So for the last 3+ weeks, I have been pumping. In the online world, this setup is called "exclusively pumping," or EP, and seems to be most popular among women whose babies are born prematurely and can't breastfeed, and others like me, who attempted it but couldn't deal with the stress of the early days.

The situation is both the best and worst of the breastfeeding and bottle-feeding worlds. I already mentioned some of the benefits, but there are downsides, too, mostly logistical. Between bottles and breastpump parts, we have a ton of washing up to do, so we run the dishwasher multiple times per day. I have to find time to pump 6 or 7 times per day, and each pumping session lasts a long time, 20 minutes or more (the longest I've gone is 50). When I'm flying solo at home, I have to pump during his naps, but if he wakes up crying, I have to either quit or try to juggle a baby and a breastpump (an acquired skill...I am still acquiring it...).

And while I'm not exactly chained to Rooster, I am sort of chained to my breastpump, as I have to pump every few hours. During our road trip this past weekend, I pumped in a mall parking lot and in a parking lot just off the side of the road while B fed Rooster. I wouldn't call it a fun experience, and it's not one I'd like to have every day, but it's doable when you have to travel.

In hindsight, should I have persevered with breastfeeding? Maybe, maybe not. Even though it was overall dissatisfying and humbling, I appreciated the idea of it and even sometimes enjoyed it. But at this point, pumping is the path that I have chosen.

It's not an easy path, and I have on occasion thought wistfully of the free jar of formula we received at the hospital. My goal is to continue for six months, but six months is an awfully long time, so I approach the activity with a "one day at a time" motto. Every day I wake up and make the decision to pump that day. I'm glad that I've stuck with it, and I'm going to carry on for as long as I can.

Plugged in

"There's a look in your eyes that I've never seen before," B told me. "It looks like you've been plugged in."

Oh, labor. You have the oddest effects on us ladies.

I awoke a little after midnight on Friday, May 6, feeling some discomfort in my belly and lower back. "This could be it," I thought, and knowing that I likely had a long road ahead of me, I attempted to fall back asleep. Alas, sleep wouldn't come. I stayed in bed for another 45 minutes or so, trying not to time the contractions but realizing that they were closer together than I expected, 5 minutes apart or so. From what I learned at our childbirthing class, most first labors start with contractions that are spaced out further, 15 minutes or so.

I decided to get up around 1 AM. If this really was labor, I wanted to be prepared for it. If not, well, a shower and blown-out hairstyle never hurt anyone, even when they are undertaken in the middle of the night.

I hopped in the shower, hoping that the hot water would alleviate some of the pain. Nope! Nevertheless, I washed my hair and tried to linger in the hopes of distracting myself from the discomfort.

And then I blew out my hair and put on makeup. Appearances matter, even when one is about to have a child.

Ten days have passed, and it's already difficult to remember exactly what the pain felt like. I guess it's true that you really do forget. The pain in my stomach was sort of like severe diarrhea cramps, and the pain in my lower back was right around my tailbone. I'd say I felt the pain was evenly split between belly and back.

When a contraction started, I'd make my way to the foot of the stairs and crouch down on all fours, a position I learned in childbirthing class. It helps when you have back labor (labor pains in your back--it can be from a backwards baby or a confused brain sending the wrong signals).

When the contractions started getting more intense, around 2:30 AM, I went into our bedroom and told B, "You need to get up." I thought that maybe the sound of my shower would have woken him, but he was sound asleep. He asked if he had time to shower, and I said, yes, absolutely. First-time labors are always lengthy, and I planned to stay at home for as long as I could.

He showered while I continued walking around, sitting on my balance ball, kneeling in front of the couch, lying on my side, attempting any position to help with the pain. I also used the breathing technique I learned in childbirthing class--deep breath in through your nose and then deep breath out through your mouth. I know I mocked the breathing technique a little bit, but it really did help and was a helpful distraction.

B warmed up the heat wrap for me and helped apply it to my back during each contraction, and it helped a bit. He also rubbed my lower back during the contractions, another helpful tool (or at the very least, another distraction).

By the time B finished eating breakfast and drinking his coffee, contractions were still somewhat irregular but were mostly less than 3 minutes apart. The pain was getting intense, so we decided to call the doctor.

We left a message with the answering service and received a call back almost immediately from the doctor on call at the hospital. He said that it sounded like I was in active labor and asked what my strategy for pain management was. I told him that I wanted to let labor progress as far as it could and that I wanted to wait as long as I could, and then I'd get an epidural. He said that I could hang out at home for another hour or two and come to the hospital when I needed help with the pain. It sounded like a plan to me.

We stayed home for another hour or so, but then by 4:30, I decided it was time to head to the hospital. B packed up the car with our bags, the car seat, and the balance ball, and we were off.

I didn't realize how bumpy the road to the hospital was until I had to ride on it while in labor! Being confined in my seat during each contraction and not being able to move around was difficult, but I did my best to breath through each one and remind myself that we'd be there soon.

We arrived at the hospital, parked in the garage (Second floor! Stairs!), and entered through the ER. They directed us to an elevator; we took a wrong turn (neither of us was thinking straight), but luckily a nurse pointed us in the right direction before we went too far. Walking during a contraction was nearly impossible.

As we pulled into the garage, we saw another couple--the woman obviously in labor, too--enter the hospital just in front of us. She clearly had had a more difficult start to labor than I had. My doctor told me that I couldn't go to the hospital until I had tears running down my face from the pain, and I never reached that stage, but this poor girl did.

We saw them waiting outside the check-in room when we arrived. We checked in and were told to wait outside. I walked around between contractions--walking helps keep things moving--and knelt in front of a chair during each contraction. After a few minutes, a nurse came out and called my name. However, no one had come for the other woman, who was clearly in worse shape than I, so I told the kind-looking nurse to take the other woman instead, and that I could wait for the next available person.

My nurse came out a few minutes later. She seemed a bit less kind. Oh, well--she was one of 3 nurses that we had, due to shift changes, so she didn't stick around for long.

She seemed doubtful that I was actually in labor. She wanted to know how far dilated I was at my last appointment and seemed to think that I couldn't be in labor. She reluctantly took me into a large triage room with individual cubbies that had curtains for privacy. She gave me a gown and belly band to change into, and then I returned to the little cubby.

Moving around in the cubby was nearly impossible--not enough space, and who wants to walk with a johnnie hanging open behind them, anyway--but the excitement of being in the hospital helped distract me from my contractions. The belly band held monitors that checked my and the baby's heartbeat, and one of them had an unpleasant nub that dug into my stomach, so I had to keep readjusting it, and then it would stop picking up a heartbeat, and it had to be adjusted again, prolonging the monitoring phase.

After a little bit, a resident arrived to examine me. Everyone took my situation much more seriously when her exam revealed that I was 5 cm (10 cm means you're ready to push) dilated.

"You're going to have a baby today!" she said.

"When do I get a room?" I demanded.

"In the next hour or so," she said.  But just a few minutes later, my nurse returned and took me to my room, where I had a little more privacy. (And when I say privacy, I mean privacy from other patients, not from hospital staff, as I can confirm that there is no privacy when one is birthing a baby.)

I had tested positive for some bacteria or other that 40% of people happen to be carrying around at any given time, so as soon as I got to my room, I had to get an IV with penicillin, further hampering my movements. Kneeling on a cold floor in a johnnie during contractions while trying not to impede my IV and monitoring wires was expectedly unpleasant. My mind started thinking thoughts of epidurals, but I tried to hold off as long as I could.

The nurse offered a drug that doesn't help with the pain but makes you feel a little drunk, but I passed, as I wanted to keep my wits about me. I was holding out for the real pain relief.

Eventually, the pain was too intense, and I was unable to breathe through it anymore. "Perhaps now would be a good time for an epidural," I said. The doctor's exam revealed that I was 6 cm dilated, a perfectly acceptable time for receiving pain relief. The anesthesiologist arrived quickly, and the insertion process took probably 15 minutes, and then I had to wait another 15 minutes or so for the pain relief to kick in. I think he was finished by 7:30 AM.

The anesthesiologist kept warning me about feeling bee stings and pressure, but I barely felt anything at all during the epidural insertion. I guess my mind had bigger pain to think about. An epidural consists of a catheter in your back that somehow makes all the pain go away. There is a button that can be pressed if you need more pain relief. (It came in handy later on.) The worst part of the epidural was its removal, as the anesthesiologist had put a huge piece of what felt like tape on my back and it had to be taken off. But that didn't happen for several more hours.

After the epidural kicked in, I had to lie on my side. My legs felt numb, sort of like the pins and needles feeling but without any pain, just delightful numbness. I could still feel each contraction, but it wasn't nearly as painful. The epidural did leave me shaky, a normal side effect that I was able to tolerate very easily.

I sent B off to get some food and tried to sleep. Sleep didn't happen, but resting with my eyes closed and not feeling any pain was lovely. Around 9:00, another exam revealed that I was at 9 cm. "Already?" I thought. I was not mentally prepared to push. At 9:45, another doctor came in, did an exam, and said that I was fully dilated and ready to go. She took what looked like a crochet needle and broke my water (painless), which ran clear (a good sign--big smiles from all the hospital staff), and then left me with the nurse.

The nurse asked if I felt like I had to push yet. I said I didn't know what that meant. She said it feels like you have to use the bathroom. I said, no, not yet, so we waited for another 10 minutes, and then I decided it was time to get the party started, so I started pushing a little after 10 AM.

The first 45 minutes or so of pushing was a bit anticlimactic. My contractions were spaced out pretty far apart, and it is possible that I was not giving the activity my full effort. I sort of wanted to see whether my full effort was really required.

As it turns out, it was. Eventually the doctor showed up, around the same time that the contractions were getting really intense, as painful as they were before the epidural. This part of the experience is a bit fuzzy. I kept looking at the clock and seeing time pass, all while feeling this enormous, crushing pressure in my abdomen. My third nurse, about as nice as the first, didn't want to give me another shot of the epidural because I was so close, but as things progressed and I was clearly struggling, the doctor told her to give it to me. I'm not sure if it kicked in, but it gave me the mental fortitude to keep going.

Around 11:30, I asked the doctor how much longer this was going to be, as I was not having fun and really wanted to get the whole ordeal over with. She said that if I pushed really hard, I could be finished in 30 minutes.

I took that as a challenge. She ordered some pitocin to make my contractions come more often, and I kicked my pushing effort into a higher gear. Within 15 minutes, our little Rooster entered the world, and the most severe pain was over.

Everything that happened next is fuzzy. I saw Rooster come out, and he was kind of slimy looking and gray (so not the romantic view of things, but it's true). The hospital staff got him crying (crying in a newborn is a good sign) and he got some color to him. I remember holding him for a little bit, and then the staff took him away for various tests and other activities while the doctors turned their attention to me.

There were a lot of stitches and a clot that had to be dealt with. I won't provide any more details, but moving around was very difficult for several days, and today is the first day that I have not had to take Motrin. It was one of many unexpected results of this whole baby thing.

Because of my late epidural shot, I had the shakies and had to stay in bed for another hour and a half or so until its effects wore off. B ordered lunch for us--I expected that I'd be ravenous afterwards, but I was somewhat unenthusiastic about food still--and then the nurse took me to the bathroom for a tutorial on how to use the bathroom for the next couple weeks. Again, I will not share details, but I will say that I was not mentally prepared for the physical damage of pushing a baby out.

Next I got into a wheelchair, and we rolled to the room where we'd be sleeping for the next two nights. It was much more spacious than some of the others (I think my post-delivery complications helped score us a bigger room, one positive result...). It had a private bathroom that was very poorly planned (no shelving!) and a few chairs and tables, including one horrible chair that converted into a "bed" for B. He was in pain for days afterward...

There is obviously much more to tell, but it has taken me 3 days to complete this posting, so I am just going to post it and continue on with my story when I have some free time.

Upping the efficiency ante

In the last couple months, we've made a few purchases that have significantly improved our lives.

Roomba vacuum
Neither of us likes to vacuum, but with a little one on the way, we need to have clean floors all the time. I considered my options and came up with a few ideas:

1. Vacuum more.
2. Hire a cleaning service.
3. Buy a Roomba.

I was able to dismiss Option 1 immediately.

Option 2 would provide many benefits other than clean carpets, but now is not the time to take on another considerable monthly expense.

Option 3 costs about the same as a month's worth of house cleaning--not cheap--but a Roomba comes with a yearlong warranty, so we can assume that we can enjoy the benefits of the Roomba for at least a year. Plus one of the benefits of a cleaning service is that it inspires you to neaten up for them, and a Roomba offers the same motivation because you don't want to run a vacuum when your shoes are littering the floor.

Our Roomba arrived a few weeks ago and seemed pretty easy to set up. (B did it.) The biggest hassle is the need to clean it out after every vac. As B pointed out, you don't necessarily save time over traditional vacuuming, since the cleaning-out process can be time consuming, but the Roomba is appealing to people who would rather clean out smaller parts than push a vac around.

B uses one of those air cans to help clean the little guy out, and so far, Roomby is working like a champ. We ran it for the first time when we were home so we could figure out where he'd get stuck. It's a little noisy, no worse than a regular vacuum, but its cleaning cycle is about 30 minutes, a long time to listen to a vacuum, so now we run it as we walk out the door.

The Roomba is lightweight, so you can easily move it from floor to floor, set it off, and come back to nicely vacuumed carpets. It even leaves vacuum marks in the carpet.

The Roomba probably can't replace our regular vacuum, and I wouldn't recommend it for houses with pets unless you were willing to run it and clean it out every day, but we're very happy with the purchase and our always-clean carpets.

New toaster
We didn't have a toaster in my city apartment; there was no room in my bathtub-sized kitchen. After we bought our condo about 5 years ago, we ventured to Target in search of a toaster oven. There were shelves upon shelves of them, and I declared that I was willing to invest in the cheapest toaster oven they had and would consider upgrading to a better model later. Mr. Cheapy came home with us.

He rattled and ticked and wasn't very good at toasting or reheating, but he was easier and faster than the oven, so we stuck with him. He repaid our commitment to him by continuing to work despite the occasional conflagrations that resulted from heating pizza slices directly on the rack.

However, life is too short to have to keep an eye on your bagel to make sure that it does not become burned. I decided I was ready for a grownup toaster oven.

My cousin raved about her Breville Smart Oven, and Cook's Illustrated concurred, giving it their top rating among toaster ovens. I was sold. B, who is not a fan of depriving himself, either, agreed that we deserved a better toaster and ordered it.

We love it. It is surprisingly easy to use, considering its complex settings. The crumb tray is a breeze to empty. And our bagels are toasted the way that we want them to be, no supervision required.

One minor issue is the oven's size and weight. This appliance is made to live on a counter top, whereas our old toaster lived in the pantry and came out only when we needed it. However, the size is also a plus. It's an extension of your oven and can fit surprisingly large pans inside. And it preheats in just a couple minutes, saving time and energy when compared to your oven.

The other major downside is the price tag. The Smart Oven is not a cheap investment. Sure, you're saving some electricity from not using your oven, but are you saving that much electricity? Probably not. However, if you can justify the cost to yourself (or if you don't even feel the need to justify the expense), I recommend considering this oven for your kitchen. 

Clothes lines
Great convenience can sometimes come at a low cost. Don't you love staying at a hotel and finding the convenient clothes line in the shower?

I do. I have a wooden drying rack from my college years, but the glue has worn out in several places, and it can't stand upright on its own anymore. With all the baby laundry we have ahead of us--including our crib linens that can't go in the dryer (argh), we needed a better drying solution.

B suggested the clothes lines that hotels feature, and I loved the idea. Hotel living at home? Sign me up!

We bought 2 retractable clothes lines, and B installed them in my shower in a snap. I washed a couple of bassinet sheets last week and was very pleased not to have to drag out that horrible drying rack.

There is one minor issue with installing the lines in the shower, though--you have to remember that you have items hanging in there before turning the shower on. Going forward, perhaps I ought to leave the curtain open when items are drying...

Pregnancy essentials

We have another month or so (plus or minus 2 weeks) before we meet Rooster, and I thought I'd share a few items that have been essential for maintaining my sanity and comfort during my pregnancy. This list is short because I wanted to include only the items that I could not have lived without during this time.


Peace of mind essentials
My mother sent me a Consumer Reports shopping list, and I used it to create a checklist (ok, the document I created was a bit more complex than that) for shopping for Rooster. Most of the checklists in the freebie baby and pregnancy magazines that I've received from the doctor and from childbirthing class have been longer, more intimidating, and full of stuff you don't actually need right away. The CR list was clearly put together by someone who doesn't want to waste your time or money.

The second item in this category is difficult to categorize, but it comes down to getting your house in order in anticipation of your new arrival. Every weekend, we have a lengthy to-do list that we tackle. We accomplish many tasks, but the list does not seem to grow any shorter because I keep adding items to it. However, we're finally finishing chores and tasks that we've been ignoring for a while (in some cases, for years).

Sleeping essentials
I had a lot of trouble training myself to sleep on my side, and my Snoogle Total Body Pillow, a recommendation from my cousin, has made my nights so much better. It's shaped like a long C, and it allows me to sleep on either side. Before I committed to the Snoogle, I propped myself up with pillows, but after you dance the Snoogle dance, you realize that traditional pillows are far inferior. One note - you don't need the Snoogle until you have to start sleeping on your side (around the fifth or sixth month).

My second item is simple and inexpensive - a nightlight for the bathroom. You can expect multiple trips to the bathroom each night, and all that waking is difficult enough to overcome without having to deal with jarring and bright bathroom lights. Buy one as early as possible.

Finally, a humidifier has been invaluable. My congestion has improved since my second trimester, but I still wake up congested every morning without the humidifier. A note - the hot humidifier turns our bedroom into a bit of a sauna, which was great in January, when the room temperature fell below 60 degrees some nights. The sauna experience is a little less desirable in warmer months. A cold humidifier would have been a more flexible option.

Comfort essentials
My belly has been itchy since practically Day 1, and I don't know what I would have done without my Bella B Tummy Honey Butter. It's a little greasy, particularly if you use a lot, but it helps with the itching and has thus far helped me avoid stretch marks.

For the last trimester, I recommend a balance ball and a microwaveable (grain-filled) neck wrap. Both help with the upper-back pain that has become a hallmark of my third trimester.

Clothing essentials
If you're tall, you're going to have trouble finding maternity pants. Even if you're not tall, I can't recommend the Gap gBalance pants enough. They're comfortable and wash and dry well.

I also recommend a couple of cheap maternity tank tops--mine are from Old Navy--in black, white, and any other colors you like. They're great under loose and low-cut maternity tops.

Food essentials
Still no food cravings, but I have been snacking on Cheez-Its since almost day one. When morning sickness or hunger strikes, fight back with carbs!

Ice cream has been another essential food, though it's more of an evening than a daytime snack for me. And because you are supposed to eat extra calories each day anyway, it's a guilt-free experience!

There isn't much I will miss about being pregnant, but I will miss the guilt-free calories...

Estate planning

A couple years ago when we purchased life insurance, our financial advisor recommended that we also get wills. We agreed that we needed them but never quite got around to getting them. However, there's nothing like impending parenthood to jump start one's plans for the future, so now we're researching the estate-planning process. 

We met with a lawyer last week to discuss the four components of an estate plan, and here's what we learned.

Wills
A will determines how one's assets are distributed in the event of one's passing.

When you're married, your will is straightforward: everything goes to your partner. It's nice to take into account what might happen if you both die together, but if you're gone, do you really care? Probably not, which is why we have avoided creating wills until now.

However, when children enter the picture, you have to care. If you both die together and leave your child or children behind, you can set up a living trust. More about that later.

You need to name an executor for your will. That person is in charge of filing the will at probate and collecting assets. Your spouse is typically the executor of your will, but you should come up with at least one backup. The law firm that creates your will can appoint a family member if the named executor is no longer around.

Living trust
A living trust, also known as a family trust or revocable trust (because it can be changed at any time) is used for the health, education, support, and maintenance of a child (or children) that you leave behind.

You have lots of options for setting up a trust, including imposing restrictions (such as no distributions for x years after marriage, or higher-education requirements, or specific amounts set aside for education). However, restrictions can be risky because you never know what might happen after you're gone.

Rather than imposing restrictions, most people write letters of intent so that others know their wishes for the distribution of the trust. The letter is not legally binding, however.

You can also specify when distributions happen. For many trusts, distributions are available in chunks at ages 25, 30, and 35. When the child reaches one of those ages, he can request distributions, and the person overseeing the trust is not allowed to say no.

You have to designate an overseer for the trust and several backups. You can appoint multiple overseers, but they have to reach agreement in order to pay out from the trust, and that can be risky. Typically, the overseer is in charge of managing the investments of the trust, but this task can also be handled by investment professionals.

You also have to designate a guardian of your children, in the event that something happens to both of you (not sure if this info is part of the will or the trust, but I'm guessing the former).

Medical proxy
This document allows someone to make health care decisions for you. The document is invoked only when a doctor says you cannot act on and communicate decisions.

You can create a personal wishes attachment for this document. The personal wishes are not legally binding, but they address situations with no hope of recovery. I expect that giving the plug-pulling order would be much easier when you have a document signed by the person telling you to do just that.

Your spouse is your medical proxy, but you should also come up with 2 backups.

Durable power of attorney
This document allows someone to sign for you and essentially be you with regard to financial and contractual matters. This document is invoked when you're alive but cannot make decisions, either because you're medically incapacitated or are for some reason unreachable (for instance, hiking the Appalachian mountains when something important comes up).

You can make the power of attorney a "springing" document, which means that it can be used only when you have legal proof that the person is unable to make decisions. This adds an unnecessary complication when you are giving these rights to your spouse, though.

You need 2 backups for this document, as well.

What you have to do to get all these documents
First of all, you have to set up an appointment with a lawyer, preferably one who specializes in estate law. They'll probably send you a questionnaire in which you list all your assets, debts, dependents, and other personal information.

Next, you have to prepare to say good-bye to some of your assets. These documents aren't cheap. However, I'm a proponent in investing in one's peace of mind, which these documents bring.

Our lawyer is going to draw up a proposal, and then we'll send her 1/3 of her fee and the information for our documents. Then she'll create the documents, collect the remaining fee, give us paper and electronic copies, and store the originals in the law firm's vault. The originals belong to us, and we can access them at any time and put them in a safety deposit box, if we prefer (I like the sound of the vault, though).

Our lawyer recommended revisiting the documents every 3 to 5 years, a great plan, assuming we remember. I'm writing it here now to ensure that I do...

If you don't have these documents, I highly recommend considering getting them. Even if you think a will and trust are unnecessary, a medical proxy is relevant to everyone over the age of 18.

Facing your mortality isn't easy or fun, but making life easier for those who remain behind is a worthwhile activity.

Coming into the home stretch

My belly button continues to teeter on the edge of being an outtie. Heartburn strikes several nights per week at bedtime. Strangers freely ask me about my pregnancy--even when I'm wearing a jacket and think that maybe, just maybe, no one can tell.

Welcome to the home stretch of my pregnancy.

I now have to seriously consider whether squatting down is necessary, and if it is, who is going to help me stand up again. My toes have become particularly agile at picking things up. Dropping the razor in the shower? No problem. Dropping the razor in the shower and having the blade come off? Time to call it quits on shaving for the day.

I can no longer see the lower half of my belly unless I sit down and really stretch forward, or if I look in the mirror. For now, I am working under the assumption that all is well down there.

Rooster continues to be an active mover, roller, kicker, and hiccupper. When he's on the move, it looks like there's an alien moving around beneath my skin. He likes to push either his head or his bottom (tough to say) against the right side of my belly so that it sticks out. His kicks are increasingly aggressive. The other night, I was lying on my side in bed, and he was jumping on the bed and pushing his head up in the other direction. I tolerated this activity for as long as possible, and then I rolled over to my other side. Sorry, Rooster, but as long as you're inside me, I'm in charge.

His movement used to be gentle and somewhat soothing, but now it is mostly uncomfortable and wince-inducing. I feel a little like I'm being beat up from the inside. I know, I know...just wait till he wants to come out...

I'm avoiding thinking about that, for a few days more, at least until our all-day childbirth class this weekend. I know that it's a good idea to be prepared for childbirth, but part of me doesn't want to know what I'm in for. I am least looking forward to watching graphic videos of other women's birth experiences. I've seen those baby story TV shows on TLC, and they are graphic enough for me.

I'm trying to prepare for life with Rooster by reading books recommended by family and friends. I've read about hundreds of events for which a doctor is needed and twice as many events for which a doctor is not needed. How on earth can anyone keep all of this information straight? It doesn't help that every book offers different advice. Maybe figuring it out on our own would have been easier.

It seems that figuring it out on own own is how parenting goes, anyway. Of all the millions of books written on parenting and taking care of babies, not one is written about your very own human, so all you can do is keep trying until you figure out what works.

Lessons learned from a mortgage refinance

You might remember that we started the mortgage refinancing process back in August. I said that I would provide an update and share my lessons learned, and I never did, but only because I didn't have an update. The sad truth is that we just closed on our mortgage refinance this week.

That's right. August to March is a 7-month process. To put this in perspective, we started the process before I was pregnant (or at least before we knew I was pregnant), and I am about 8.5 weeks from my due date. It should not take the same amount of time to refinance a mortgage and grow a new human...but it did.

So, here we go. Lessons learned. Neglect and incompetence on the part of the bank were the general themes of the process. They asked for documents in November. We sent them a link and offered to mail the docs, and they never asked for paper copies or acknowledged receiving it. They never acknowledged anything we sent, so we assumed all was well. Then they asked for the same docs in February. We sent the same link with a friendly reminder that we sent them the docs four months ago, and here they were again. They said they couldn't access the docs online and we had 36 hours to mail or fax the docs or the mortgage refinance would be cancelled.

The docs were too big to email (a fact that we noted in both emails about them), neither of us was able to get to the post office in time, and we don't have a fax machine. However, I came up with a solution that allowed us to make the deadline and had the potential to be very annoying to our incompetent mortgage processor, a double win. I split the documents into 1-page PDFs and emailed them individually.

Yes, this process took a long time and was annoying, as I had to create about 85 documents and then send 85 emails. But the thought of leaving our mortgage processor with a full mailbox and maybe even a paralyzed computer as all the emails arrived was enough motivation to keep me going.

When he first made his demand, I might have sent an email response that was more heated than what one would expect from me. I almost certainly used my go-to phrase in times of duress, "This is unacceptable!" I might have thrown out words such as "incompetent" and "unreasonable" in an accusatory kind of way. Such tactics are not the best way to win people over, and in hindsight, perhaps I ought to have tempered myself.

Or not! Because we actually had forward progress on our refinance after they received the docs. Sure, they tried to put up another roadblock, demanding additional docs, but B was able to track down the PDF copies of them from our town's website (thank goodness for modern technology).

Several more weeks passed, and then early this week, I received a call from the guy who locked our rate. He explained that (despite all evidence to the contrary) the bank really wanted to close the mortgage. However, all the delays meant that they owed money to Freddie Mac because they weren't able to close the deal in the time allotted. They very generously (sniff) offered to pay half the fee, but they expected us to cough up the other half, about $700.

This put us in a very difficult situation. First of all, our amazing rate is long gone and will probably never return in my lifetime. Secondly, if we were to start the refinancing process over again, we'd have to pay over $300 to lock a new and higher rate and pay for a credit check, plus we'd be paying our current high mortgage interest each month while we waited for the loan to close.

I asked whether there was an appeal process, as we had responded to all requests in a timely way, so therefore, the delay was not our fault. He said we could appeal, but we'd be taken out of the queue that we were in and put in another queue. The appeal could take 30 days, and there were 3 possible results: the bank could cancel the loan entirely, they could deny the appeal (and then we'd owe about twice as much for the extra delay), or they could approve the appeal.

What could we do? I agreed to pay the fee. I am contemplating using the small-claims courts as my own personal appeal, but first I will have to do further research to determine if I have a case.

While I had him on the phone, I asked for the closing costs, which he gave me. Incidentally, they didn't match the actual costs on the docs we signed. Details, details.

I asked if we could bring a check to cover the closing costs. He said that any modifications would only delay the process. Again, all I could do was say ok and go along with it.

Although we weren't allowed to pay any closing costs, he said we were required to bring the $700 fee to the closing. He couldn't give me the exact amount and said we'd have to wait for a phone call on the day of the closing to get the number. Around 3 PM that day (after B had called and emailed everyone we knew at the bank trying to get the number), we received a phone call and email saying that we didn't have to bring any money to the closing and would in fact be receiving a check back from them. For what, we don't know.

For our closing, which took place at our house, a lawyer arrived with the docs. We signed them all, handed them back, and then it was over.

On the one hand, we feel as if we ought to celebrate. But the process was so long and horrible that we just want to feel grateful for our new rate and try to forget the drama that we went through to get it.

Now that we've got our mortgage finished, it's time to move on to other adulty tasks, including setting up a living trust, getting wills, and starting a 529 plan for the Rooster. Let the excitement begin.

Sad but true: There is no nursery theme

Last weekend, B and I traveled the state in search of home decor items.

First, we purchased some steer horns and a coordinating skull, cast in resin but remarkably lifelike. This item is not for Rooster's nursery. It joins the vejigante (mask) from Puerto Rico and the eyeless Venetian mask in our Items That Will Likely Terrify a Child collection. We're hoping that Rooster will be a brave little boy who is able to handle our decorating choices.

Next, we purchased curtains for the nursery. Before this weekend, I thought of buying curtains as a straightforward task. I now know that nothing is straightforward at Pottery Barn Kids.

Because of their high prices, PB is not my go-to store for items, but I knew we needed blackout curtains for Rooster's room, and PBK has a lot of them. The prices at PBK are more reasonable than at PB, so I chose a set I liked and decided to try to buy them in a store to skip the shipping charges.

The store we visited was not big but was divided into lots of little rooms, so I felt like I was hitting a dead end every time I turned a corner. We eventually found the curtains area but couldn't find the curtains I wanted, so we had to get in line and ask for help.

I had been going back and forth between green and white curtains, and I decided that white might be best for versatility. Unfortunately, the woman who helped us told me that they didn't carry the white curtains in their store, either for display or sale. Bummer. She said she could order them for me, but it would be the same as if I ordered them myself (that is, I'd have to pay for shipping).

I asked if she could show me a similar curtain to the kind I picked out, and she did. I wasn't crazy about the look or feel of the fabric, but I reasoned that I could always exchange them. I decided to buy the curtain rings that we needed at the store and to buy the curtains from their website.

Curtain rings were not on the floor, so she disappeared into the back storage office to get them. While she was gone, we started looking at other curtains and I started warming up to the idea of green curtains once again.

She returned empty handed and explained that they didn't have the silver-colored curtain rings and I'd have to buy them online. I said ok and said we had reconsidered our curtain color, and would she mind showing us the options that they had in green. She said sure but first wanted to know the decor of the nursery.

You might need to look at the PBK website to understand her question. They sell bedding, wall decor, curtains, floor rugs, and probably many other items in coordinating themes, such as sports or elephants. All the colors match perfectly, and the end result is a bit of a Stepford nursery. It's a fine look but it's not what we're going for.

I told her that we have an animal theme. It's true, sort of. We have four framed prints from the ABC Canadian Rockies children's book we picked up in Banff, and a Noah's Ark-themed tapestry from Peru with (obviously) pairs of three-dimensional fabric animals. We've also picked out some sheets that feature animals, and we're going to get some animal wall decals for the wall that will feature pictures of family and friends. However, our goal is not to design a color-coordinated room, and how do you explain that to someone who believes that a nursery should be color coordinated?

My animal-theme answer was not good enough, so she wanted to know the color of the floor. I explained that it's pink wall-to-wall carpeting. She seemed to disapprove of this choice for a baby boy and tried to direct us to the rack containing their rugs. I pooh-poohed this suggestion; why invest in a rug that will only be destroyed in a baby's room?

She reluctantly returned to the curtain racks with us, probably wondering how on earth we passed up the Dr. Suess-themed room, and she pointed out a few options in green. We chose a set with white polka dots and built-in blackout panels. But of course these curtains were not available on the floor, so she had to return to the back room to find them.

By some small miracle, they had them in stock. After she returned, I remembered that I wanted to buy sheer curtains to go behind them. Sheer curtains provide privacy while allowing light to filter in. But, you guessed it: these curtains were not available on the floor, either. It was another five-minute disappearance.

Eventually, she returned and rang up our purchase, and we were able to return to the safety of the mall. B declared that he hated the store and all the people in it and never wanted to return. Even I, a lover of shopping, felt that my patience had been tried by the experience.

Our curtain hardware just arrived in the mail yesterday, so we haven't hung the curtains yet to see how they look. If the green polkas are too much for a room that already has some attention-grabbing decor, we'll buy the white ones online and return the green ones to the store. I am ok with B waiting outside the store for that adventure. He has already paid his PBK dues.

Feel the burn

One night this weekend, an hour or so after I fell asleep, I awoke to a most unpleasant sensation in my throat. If you're queasy, consider not reading any further.

It felt as if acid from my stomach was creeping up my throat and trying to make its way into my mouth. Yuck.

I tried to ignore it and went back to sleep, but I awoke 30 minutes later to the same sensation, this time worse. It was unpleasant enough that I did not want to continue lying down and dealing with it.

I got up and rinsed my mouth with mouthwash to try to get rid of the taste in my mouth. I cannot gargle; whenever I try, I always end up choking and swallowing most of the liquid. Oh, how I wished I could gargle!

Luckily, the swishing of the mouthwash was adequate for erasing most of the unpleasant taste.

I knew that I could not return to bed, though. Lying down clearly worsened the situation.

Not wanting to wake B up, I meandered upstairs to the loft and curled up on the couch, using pillows to prop myself into a sitting position, and fell asleep. Several hours later, I awoke feeling less acidic and decided to give sleeping in a bed a try. Sleeping on a couch is uncomfortable, at best; sleeping while hunched over a pillow on a couch is an experience to be missed.

I was wary about returning to a supine position, though. I grabbed a couple pillows and tucked them under the top half of my snoogle, hoping that even a slight elevation would be helpful. The elevation and likely the passage of time helped, and I slept the rest of the night in relative comfort. (Exhaustion helped.)

The next morning, I was recovered, but I suspected that something had taken a turn for the worse and that pregnancy was to blame. I remember telling my doctor last spring that I didn't get heartburn, and (knowing that I was planning to get pregnant later that year) she said, "Just wait till you get pregnant!" Alas, Dr. H, you were correct. I suspect that I now suffer from it.

The culprit that evening was likely the pineapple juice that I gulped down just an hour or so before bed. Pineapple juice, I hope I have not ruined you forever and that I'll still be able to drink you after this phase passes.

The next morning, feeling like tempting fate, I had a couple glasses of orange juice and suffered milder effects, probably because I was not lying down. Later that day, a can of ginger ale taught me that perhaps it's time to remove soda from my list of drinkable beverages.

I countered the effects of the OJ and ginger ale with Tums, which, despite their chalk-like consistency, are quite delicious and satisfying to eat. Thank goodness, too, since I suspect I'll be eating quite a few of them in the upcoming months.

I now keep a bottle of Tums on my bedside table, just in case, and we have another bottle that floats around the house, ready to be grabbed at a moment's notice. I should probably also pack a bag of the little treats for work.

Heartburn is the pits.

The nesting instinct

I can officially confirm that I have succumbed to the nesting instinct.

My nesting tendencies came on so gradually that I didn't distinguish them from my usual tidiness, at least in the beginning. However, my activities in the last couple of months are not normal, even for me.

Each weekend, I tackle a new area of our house, from the hidden to the in-plain-sight, and I create piles: Keep piles, Trash/Recycling piles, and Give Away piles.

Many of the items that end up in the Give Away pile are sellable, but selling an item on craigslist is time consuming. The goal of these purging exercises is to rid our home of unnecessary items as quickly as possible.

My first project was the walk-in closet in our spare bedroom, soon to be our nursery. The closet is about six-feet square, with shelving that previously held lots of our stuff. I knew that we'd need the space for baby gear, so I accepted early on that not all the treasures would be able to stay.

In general, I'm not an overly sentimental person with regard to possessions, so I was able to identify many bags full of items that I could live without. B tackled a pile that I created for him and was able to say good-bye to many of the items, as well. If we were unable to part with an item but knew that we would rarely need to use it, we packed it up and put it aside for safekeeping it in the attic above our loft or storage space in the wall behind our loft.

Speaking of the loft, it was my next project. Probably most houses have a room where stuff seems to accumulate in corners and crevices, and for us, that room is the loft. This project was particularly satisfying because I got to review over a year's worth of paper that was set aside for filing, and we didn't need to keep most of it. That's right, I got to shred, an enjoyable activity when one is nesting.

I also packed up a ton of stuff to be moved into storage, so much that we had to go buy more storage totes. When I ambushed B after work one day with the task of putting the stuff away--not as easy as it sounds, as our storage areas are difficult to access, are unfinished and unheated, and are generally unpleasant and dusty places to be--he reluctantly got out the ladder to investigate, only to declare that we didn't have enough space for all of the new storage totes.

Yes, that's right, it was another purging opportunity! He brought out everything that we had stored away, and we realized that we didn't need most of the stuff. The plastic tote full of cables that we thought we might someday use was particularly satisfying to say good-bye to. 

Our next project was the kitchen. One of the reasons we bought our condo was the surprisingly large amount of storage space in the kitchen. We have a large walk-in pantry with great Ikea shelving, a bottom-level double cabinet with lots of open space, and a corner cabinet with a narrow opening and space that goes waaaaay back.

Having a lot of storage is only helpful if you use it wisely, and we weren't. The volume of stuff we had and its lack of organization made finding frequently used items more difficult than necessary. It was time to purge.

It's not easy getting rid of kitchen equipment. You are bound to ask yourself, "What if I want this some day..." about so many items. However, facing reality and one's own limitations is helpful in the purging process. Once upon a time, I thought that having a collection of cookie cutters was part of being female. However, the reality is that I really dislike rolling out and touching dough of any kind, so becoming a mother is not likely to transform me into one of those women who bakes cookies cut from cookie cutters. And you know what? I am happier now that I have acknowledged that fact and moved on.

The kitchen reorg was a multi-day effort that involved taking everything out of its storage space, either cabinet or pantry, deciding whether to keep it, and figuring out the best place for it to live. We had to reconfigure some of the shelves in the pantry, an activity that was fun for only one of us (I suspect you can guess who).

For the keep-it-or-dump-it triage, I found that giving ourselves a few days to think about an item was helpful. We ended up finding space for quite a few items that I thought I could live without, even if we rarely or never use them. Sometimes just-in-case is a legitimate reason to keep an item.

The end result of our reorg was a pantry that we once again love. And we love it even more than we did after the first reorg before because we no longer need to keep the rolling cart that held all the spillover items. We had to remove the cart every time we wanted to access any item on the lower shelves (such a pain). Now we have no idea what to do with the cart, but we're thinking that it will likely be useful in the closet in the nursery (which is currently in disarray due to the ongoing painting project in that room, to be completed this weekend, we hope). 

I've learned a few lessons from all these exercises.

• Just because items can be organized doesn't mean that they should be organized. An organized collection of stuff you don't need is just as unhelpful as an unorganized collection of stuff you don't need.
• My impulse purchases usually eventually get donated to the Salvation Army.
• If you donate anything made after 1965 to the Salvation Army, you are a rockstar.
• The nesting instinct is merciless. Before getting rid of an item that you're on the fence about, run the idea by someone else to make sure you won't regret it later.
• Getting rid of a lot of stuff is a messy, cluttered process. The bags sit in your living room for days until you're able to make a Salvy drop. Accept that your house will be in a state of chaos until all the purging and organization is complete. The clutter has to get worse before it can get better. 
• When in doubt, pack an item away for a year or two and then revisit. If you haven't thought about it the entire time, you probably don't need it.

Super taster, super feeler, super duper

I am a super taster. Biologically speaking, I have more taste buds on my tongue per square inch than most people. Practically speaking, I taste foods more intensely than others, or so I am given to understand. An article I read once say that it's a neon-taste world for us super-tasters, and I suppose it must be true, though I can't say for sure, since I don't know what it's like to be a normal taster.

Some parts of ourselves, such as our five senses and our emotional states, establish themselves and then don't change much. What annoys you or makes you happy one day typically annoys you or makes you happy the next day. Once you've established a norm for yourself for how you react to situations, you frequently keep to that norm.

But not, as I am learning, when you're pregnant. Under normal circumstances (that is, when I'm not pregnant), I would not consider myself an overly emotional person. I feel emotions, frequently strongly, but the rational part of me is still almost always in control.

Pregnancy land, however, is a super feeling world. I no longer get a little happy; I dance around the room while singing. I don't get a little upset; I swear and stomp. Rarely am I a little annoyed; my facial expression and body language scream that I have no patience for fools.

I feel emotions much more intensely than before, but the situation is even more extreme because my rational mind is no longer in control. I can't hold myself back from dancing and swearing and withdrawing physically. Not only that, but my verbal inhibitions are significantly lower than before. I freely speak my mind, voicing complaints that I would otherwise stifle and expressing opinions that I might otherwise phrase much more carefully.

I feel like I'm getting to know a whole new me, a me that I never thought I would be, but one that has offered an intriguing perspective. As it turns out, speaking your mind does not result in catastrophe. In fact, contronting a difficult situation and saying how you feel about it is unexpectedly cathartic. Confrontation gives you the opportunity to acknowledge a problem, and if the situation goes well, you feel better afterwards and can begin anew.

I have about 12 weeks left of my pregnancy, so everyone around me can expect to interact with an increasingly honest, moody, and temperamental individual for the duration. I am on the verge of losing my previously very cute innie belly button; as soon as it pops out into an outie, all bets are off, and I make no guarantees that I will exhibit any rational behavior from here on out.