Could it be that I actually have half a moment to write a blog? I think so!
It doesn't really matter what I write about at this point. Just getting my hot little hands on this keyboard and typing away gives me a thrill like a 40 year old woman back on the dance floor of her favorite club. She can't dance modern but she bustin' a move the best she can. And so will I.
The past two weeks have been full of diapers and crying and feeding. With the blessing of a new baby comes the challenge of the first three months. For those who may have forgotten (as I did when I decided to have another), the baby is as helpless as a piece of celery and about as limp. Their little head is not only screwed on loose at this point but about the softest melon one could find at the grocery store.
This leaves a parent like myself on constant head holding duty. Not to mention those spagetti arms they got going. Yes all limp from the hips up but those legs have had some time to kick and show some strength at this point. They just have no ability to dress into pants when I'm trying to put them on him. Their like a pair of roman candle fireworks going off. Pant legs couldn't be easier with all those buttons down the legs but not for a infant. No sir-ee! They're flailing all over the place like its the fourth of July.
And as for breast feeding. ... No one told me it took up to an hour to feed. My babe is adorable and as slow as molasses in February in the eating department. What happened to the thought that this was going to be nurturing? I'd say more like tiring.
At the end of the day I look at this floppy little man and love his little toes and fingers and little chicken legs. I think his hair is so soft and almost am sad to think that his wee scowl that scrunches his nose up will soon disapear and be replaced, thankfully with cute chubby facial features.
Why not try a home birth, I thought. Future thought is not my strong point but I will say now before I begin that I am not disappointed that I tried home birth and ended up at the hospital. In fact I am better for have taking a chance and finding out I wasn't strong enough than to never have tried at all.
Yes the truth of the matter is that after labor started at 2am and got into hard labor by 8am, I was exhausted by the time we decided to go to the hospital at 5pm.
I always thought an ambulance ride would be embarassing. But its not. If you are in enough pain you don't care which one of your neighbours sees your naked butt being carried outside. The drivers were good that they trucked me downstairs and one even found me a slipper. yes just one.
In the ambulance the driver is talking about mundane things. I assume he wanted to take my mind of the obvious pain and I tried to be polight and answer his questions.
At this point of leaving I'm 91/2 cemtimeters dialated. So we needed an ambulance in case the baby decided to be born on route.
But why leave then? Why not stick it out and have the little one at home if I was so close?
Because I had been "close" for hours. Yes, my little baby boy inside was tangled in his embilical cord round his neck and arm and was basiclly bungi jumping on the inside, unable to really get his bags packed and moved out due to a short leash.
However, after 3 hours at the hospital, a gallon of laughing gas (which by the way I recommend to anyone in labor, even the husbands), my water was broke (a second time) and my little boy was forced out.
Since his cord was still too short to let him go quietly it tighted and his pulse went down to 50bpm. They say that's really really not good.
I wake to someone taking my gas mask away and two midwives and a nurse in my face basiclly yelling at me "push!!", and I'm screaming back "I can't!! It's gonna rip!!" I was so angery and scared at the sudden change in pace that my husband said I looked crazy, my eyes becoming gigantic.
It turned out good though. Its amazing how much you naturally push when scared, angry and under that kind of adrenalin.
And then there he was.
My new little boy. So tiny and crying.
A moment ago all I wanted to do was save myself. My physical being screamed not to hurt.
but not now.
No, he was beautiful and worth all the pain.
I am gaining a great appreciation for Friday nights. Some people feel lonely when left alone. I often just feel finally at rest from the day.
My husband couldn't imagine doing things like going to dinner by ones self or to the movies (which is a little more daring). But it wouldn't really bother me much. For as much as I'm outgoing I am just as much an introvert. I love my own time. Like right now.
The house is quiet. My son is off to bed and sound asleep and my hubby is off to YFC volunteer. The house is completely quiet.
When I was first married I may have freaked complaining to my husband that I was left alone at home with nothing to do. Not now though. Uh Unn! I treasure the time. I get a movie and snack and curl up on the couch for a chick flick. Or I pick up a book and read as long as I want. Till I can barley keep my eyes open. I run a bath and sit till the water is cold. No one to disturb me at all. Sweetness.
Its like heaven at home. The sweet sound of silence.
As a mom, there is a constant "wanting" sound from a family. My son acomplishes this all on his own. But my husband also is part of the chorus. If your not familiar with the it it sounds like a droning "what's for supper? I'm hungry. I'm bord. whaaaaaa. sneeze sneeze . whaaaaa. What's for lunch? Do I have any clean underwear? bah bah bah (alarm clock)....."
you get the idea :)
But for a few hours on a Friday night, no one is asking anything of me. Not even the dog who is asleep by the door.
I sigh with the though that I could blog for hours without ever worrying that my son with toddle around the corner and want up on my lap so he can get a hold of the mouse and play; making me feel like a mear stepping stool.
There is something so sweet each day when the supper is done. The child is in bed and I sit with a sigh of relief. My job for the day is done. Nothing more is expected of me.