How Fast Can I Type This Post?

Says the lady living on borrowed (aka nap) time with a baby wrapped around her chest.

People, life is good. It is so fucking good. So, no matter what I say here, just know, we are living a dream. A serious dream. And even if D kept us up all night, we will tell not a soul. He is perfect.  That's our story. We're sticking to it. Life is nothing without him.

That being said, life is different with him. Hello understatement. Here's a little sampling of our daily routine (all times are approximate):

around 5 am - the baby stirreth. Food is called for. We comply.

6:30 am - baby and me pass out right about the time M gets up for work, gets ready, sits on couch wanting to cry because that's how much he doesn't want to leave us. If we can muster it, we get up and chill with dad for a little bit. Watch TV. Drink OJ.

7:30 am - M leaves. We are left to our own devices. When I'm lucky, D passes back out for a bit more. As do I. If I'm not, we hang out. We dance. We work through the grunts and cries. A few rounds of The Gas Dance* usually does the trick. On mornings where sleep isn't happening, I've found a pretty sweet spot on Comedy Central from 9-11 am: Daily Show>Colbert>Always Sunny>South Park. That works.

9 am - 5 pm - eating, sleeping, pooping, waking, crying (not really a cry, more like a yelp. its pretty adorable...for a while). Lather, rinse, repeat. Every day there is that inevitable moment: "Holy shit. How is it noon already?"

5 pm - Daddy's home! The evening begins. We may start dinner, or entertain visitors, or better yet, visitors bringing dinner. Getting the mail these days is also a treat.  (Seeing all of these beautiful cards and boxes of treats for D makes me so grateful there are so many people celebrating his arrival. but also makes me wince at how sucky M and me have been as friends and family members these last several years. Completely checked out as far as most life events. Sigh. Sorry.) On lovely days, we go for a walk along the river together, either in the snap-n-go stroller or the wrap.

Here's my favorite part:

stranger: OMG, what an awesome baby! How old is he?
us: almost 4 weeks old.
stranger (eying me up): whoa. you look GREAT!
me: Thanks!
M (after the stranger walks away): you DO look great, but are the skinny jeans really necessary?
me: hells. yes. Daddy.

How weird is it to refer to each other as "mommy" and "daddy" all the time and to ones self in third person. Mommy's washing you! Mommy sees you! Mommy smells your pooooo.....but like most non-native speakers, pronouns and abstracts are tough for babies and referencing each other in ways they understand is apparently strongly recommended. Huh. Who knew. I just thought my dad had a weird mom complex. I mean, I'm fairly certain he did, but that's another story.

On a good day, I may also do one or more of the following:

• brush my teeth
• make the bed
• eat breakfast
• throw in a load of laundry
• write some thank you notes
• check email/blogs
• try to figure out our new high-deductible insurance, which, for the record SUUUCKS. Like, three syllable sucks. 
• pump
  

Notice, shower is off the list. Bathing is overrated. IMHO. That's what weekends are for.

And oh the pumping. That is really the thing that is most often the most undoable. Simply because when D is down, I have a list of other priorities, like feeding and clothing myself. When D is up, he is up and demands undivided attention. As he should. I mean, have you seen him? He's a-frigging-dorable.

D hasn't "taken to the breast" yet. We try at least once a day. I could probably try harder. But you know, I'm ok with it. We have plenty of us time. Plenty of skin-to-skin and kangaroo care moments. (read: I'm running around topless all the time, yo!) If he doesn't want my boob, I'm not going to force it on him. Because that feels yucky to me. It just does. I don't like pushing him to do something he doesn't want, especially when it is so intimate in nature. Plus, it stings just a bit when your baby physically pushes you away, no? I'd rather take that time and cuddle and love, and feed him with a bottle. Fine.

About 10% of D's daily intake is breast milk. The rest is formula. My pal A heard those numbers and wondered, "dude, that's not a lot. Is it really worth all that work?"

Well, fair question. And for right now,  I'm saying yes. It is. It's worth sitting in the dark for a few moments, nursing (as it were) those few drops from my breasts to give to him. Because I can. Because it's giving him a few more nutrients. A little less constipation. A little part of me. A taste for curry. A love of garlic. A craving for vegetables. Its worth it for now, even if I can't give him as much as I'd like.

So that's where we are. That's how we roll. In a snap-n-go. ;-)


*Think white-girl hybrid salsa/meringue/cha cha cha/side sway to the music provided on the Music Choice Tropicales station, which appears to be D's standing fave.

Behold, the BBB

Dmitry.  The meaning of the name is a "devoted to," "dedicated to, or "follower of Demeter" (Δημήτηρ Dēmētēr), "mother-earth", the Greek goddess of agriculture.

Demeter. Goddess of the harvest. Mother of Persephone. Mother Earth. Earth mother. Mother of a lost daughter.

Here is Dmitry.

Is it just me, or do all babies look like Brock Lesnar for the first few days of life?

In all seriousness, in a certain light, he looks just like Isa, bears a striking resemblance to Jovi, looks like his daddy, has a face and an identity all his own. All of that. Wrapped into one precious bundle that neither of us want to put down.

Except for today. I'm a little tired today.

After this post, I probably won't post too too many pictures here on the blog, because let's face it, if you are in the midst of your own journey, struggling with infertility or yet another loss, I know the last thing you want to see is someone else's smiling baby. Man, it stings. I know.

But so many of you have asked. It hardly seemed fair to you who kept the vigil with us to not have a glimpse of the end result.

The end result arrived at 9:14 pm, Monday, March 25th after me, M, L and her hubby (and L's aunt who kindly captured the day with her camera) spent the day watching P*wn Stars and L*ve It or List It marathons as we waited for the induction drugs to take effect.

The day was relatively uneventful until BBB had descended far down enough for L's doctor to safely break her water. That happened around 6 pm and from there on we watched this amazing woman put herself into a zone and prepare to deliver our baby.

Our baby.

The waiting was nearly unbearable. I could see M start to get rattled when the nurse asked us if we had ever seen a delivery before. I answered that I had, but was the one delivering...And that's when I realized how traumatic this event could potentially be for M. He was there. The first time. On the receiving end. Receiving our baby girls. Seeing their first, and some of their last breaths. Oh M.

We left the room for a bit. M cried. I let him. Then he asked for some time alone to talk with our daughters. I went back in with L and he joined us a little later. After he said the things he needed to say. 

It wasn't long until L said, "I can't NOT push anymore. I have to push." One last check of her cervix and her doc simply said, "ready when you are."

Holy shit, I see a head.

Oh my god, there's a face. Umbilical cord! Ack! (no worries, doc looped it over and around, out of the way) Shoulders!

"Ok. We're gonna push until we're done now. Go!"

Baby.

Baby!!! When his voice sounded, so did my sobs. I totally and completely failed at my assigned task, which was to start drying him off and wrapping him in warm blankets. All I could do was sob. Big ugly joyous sobs.

M was right by my side. Staring. Just staring. We waited until the cord stopped pulsing, M cut, and that little sweetness was lifted onto mommy's chest. After L looked down and said, oh, he's not so big. (says the woman who had three ten-pounders). We laughed and cried and it was seriously the most amazing moment. With amazing people. Lots and lots of hugs and hand squeezes and relief. Sweet relief. Big baby boy. You are here.

In the evening and day that followed one of the nurses kept coming by to our rooms when we were all together to see if we needed anything. After the fifth time, we were all like, seriously, we are fine. "I know, I know!" She said. "I just want to BE here. There is such an aura of blessings in this room. I just want to be around it."

Well, that about sums it up, no?

The drive home was long and filled with firsts. First road trip! First hotel room! First diaper changing in the back seat!

I so love this pic

Might as well get him started right. Right? :-) Me and M and D. We three. A road tripping team.

And now we're home.

So, what about the blog? What's going to become of the Maybe Baby blog?

Well, I write about my life. And plan to continue. My life now includes another person in it. Odds are good there will be some posts about D here. But also life and work and running and such. Sometimes starring D. Sometimes not. I understand if you need to step away for a bit if this isn't what you want to be reading right now. I get it.

If you stick around, I'm also working on some book review type posts. One on the latest book written by Lauren Sandler based on her own life and her research for Time magazine on the decision to have one and only one child. I'm half way through it with pages of scribbles. Questions for Lauren, for you, for myself. With or without infertility thrown into the conversation, there are some discussions worth having here.

And here's the problem (not really) with pumping wearing a sassy hands-free pumping bra = way too much time to shop online. Good thing that Amazon is filled with offerings from the IF community. Have you seen Lori Holden's book The Open-Hearted Way to Open Adoption: Helping Your Child Grow Up Whole has finally arrived?? Did you know there's a sequel to Melissa Ford's Life from Scratch called Measure Of Love? Done, and done.

So, M is back at work (boo.) Me and D, we are chilling. Pumping, eating, pooping, sleeping, reading. Getting to know one another.  It's awesome. For reals.