Mama/Mamma

We have a four year old now, one who is transforming hourly into a very Big Boy. And a ten month old, who could probably eat a car if we fed it to him in small enough bits. Tomorrow is the last of Jonah's three parties, a joint one with another boy at school, with pizza and cupcakes and entertainment by the dads. I can't wait! Perhaps most of all because I don't have to do much for it other than get the pizza. Somewhere in there, I turned 39 as well. And I'm going to stay that age for the next ten years.

So, the yelling. I'd like to say it has diminished a bit. The anger, too. Maybe I've turned it down just a notch or two. Maybe I don't have the heart to yell at a boy who's in birthday mode. Maybe it's because when Jonah cries, Abe now starts crying in solidarity. Or maybe it's because Jonah's gotten more sophisticated, and has realized that he can call me on it. Last week he made an attempt to pour his own milk while I was in the other room changing Abe's diaper. I knew he would probably make an attempt, and I specifically told him not to. I came back to find a pool of milk on the table, Jonah soaked in it, and I started yelling almost immediately. Jonah started crying (which he typically hasn't, not until now), and saying, "Don't yell at me!" After cleaning it up, I may have also said something like, "Drink your damn milk." This also perturbed him and he protested, "Don't say that word!!!"

Could it be that I just needed him to grow up a little? Just a hair's breadth of growing up? After that episode I really haven't had the heart to get mega-pissed at him. He is also becoming savvy about "mistakes" versus pure naughtiness. And I can't really yell at him if he made a mistake, can I? So I guess we are going to give mistakes a wide berth for a bit.

A couple of nights ago, Jonah chose his Italian picture dictionary as bedtime reading. Maybe an odd choice, but not for my language-obsessed little guy (he has these dictionaries for Spanish and Hebrew, too). He asked us which one of us spoke Italian, and I raised my hand. He asked me to talk to him in Italian, and we wound up doing the entire bedtime routine in Italian. He loved it! And it was amazing to see how quickly he was understanding the things I was asking him to do. Then we settled down and I pointed out words and told him how to say them. It wasn't until later that I realized another possible reason he was so enthusiastic about his Italian Mom: She doesn't yell at him.

Italian--Moms--Yelling. This string of three took me straight back to my shared apartment on Via Aretina, in Florence, spring and summer 1992. My bedroom wall adjoined the kitchen of our neighbors, a family with two young boys. On a regular basis, the mother would be cooking and all of a sudden burst into angry invective at one of her sons (probably the younger one, as wailing would quickly ensue). I would lie in bed feeling awful for the little guy, and wondering how any mother could be so quick to anger at such a young kid.

Signora Vieri, I'm sorry I thought you such a bad, evil mom.

The silly season

As my friend calls it. All the parties, all the treats, all the wrapping paper to be carefully fitted over gifts, then ripped mercilessly off. Jonah's birthday (to be celebrated no fewer than three times, as usual), mine a week before (to be celebrated at all because I planned ahead and got a sitter!), Chanukah, and of course ubiquitous Xmas dopiness enveloping all, whether you wish it to, or not. Yesterday I took Abe to a Chanukah program at Jonah's school, the centerpiece of which was a drum circle for all the kids which told the story of the holiday. Each kid got to sit on a drum and play it. There were enough drums that I could snag one for Abe, who went to town. (Seems I've got TWO Little Drummer Boys... ba rum pa pum pum.)

Last night, Jonah asked to watch some old movies, and by old he means, last year. I queued up one where he was playing with a birthday gift, a wooden pizza set, right after turning 3. Before Abe arrived. What a chubby-faced baby he was! And what hit me like a ton of bricks was my voice in the background, patiently explaining to him how to put the toppings on the pizza, how to use the cutter. I was so sweet, so loving, not even a hint of edge in my voice. So it seems I was a good mom, and then went and had another baby and instantly transformed into a bitchy, impatient, angry one (with some help from Jonah who has inhabited Three-ness to the utmost for the past few months). I waited until after the kids were in bed to think and talk about it, and promptly broke down. I don't think I can stand to watch these movies again until we're past the dark age of 3, which I hope will be very soon.

But I'm not always so horrible. Yesterday I decided to take the kids to the library after the school event, and Jonah managed to walk all the way there and back, so Abe could nap in his little stroller sleeping bag. The vibe there wasn't too bad, considering that after-school hours there mean extra cops on duty in the youth wing. We got to have a snack in the library atrium and read a Richard Scarry book together and then go up to the phone booths on the 3rd floor so Jonah could go in and out of them a hundred times. When we came home, we watched the movies mentioned above, and came across one of Jonah dancing to the Pogues, also a year ago. I decided to put on the same song and watch him dance again, and it was so exciting to see how his movement has changed. He said, "The song is telling me how to dance to it!" How long until this creativity is snuffed out of him? Or can we keep it stoked somehow?

Nine months of Abe

Dear, sweet, nap-deprived-due-to-his-brother Abe is nine months old tomorrow. Or as Jonah might like to say, 3/4 years old. And the checkup today showed him gaining weight and inches right on target. And the doctor said he was cute. Does she say that to all the babies? Maybe all the nine month olds?

Nine months is quite the age. I had previously thought six months to be the bee's knees, since that's when sitting up unassisted happens. No, nine months, with its locomotion (emphasis on the loco), long strings of babble, and discovery of FOOD! and DRINK! is really where it's at. We met a boy on the playground today who's the same age as Abe, and even though they look nothing alike, they both have these huge, liquid eyes that you could simply drown in. I could probably spend an entire morning gazing at Abe, kissing his soft cheeks, cooing, examining what food is currently plastered behind his ears, etc.

Except I've been treating my nine month old like a newborn, and that needs to stop. Today at the playground I actually PUT HIM DOWN ON THE GROUND to let him explore. I had never done that before. What the hell is wrong with me?! And now it's soon winter, so it will be too cold for him to do that much longer. But Jonah was a winter baby and somehow learned to walk (except that come spring, he had trouble walking on grass).

Jonah is the best big brother. I could never have imagined such tenderness and love between my two boys. They actually have fun together. Maybe it's the improved sleep, but I am feeling pretty grateful these days. I have two adorable boys, a loving husband who hasn't given up on me yet (six years of marriage next Sunday!), and a plan for what to make for dinner tomorrow.

It gets better

Maybe I shouldn't be appropriating that phrase (or maybe I should, lest it come to mean only one thing?), because this has nothing to do with coming out as a gay person. This has to do with coming out from under what felt like months (in reality maybe 2.5 weeks?) of very early wakeups from Jonah. 5:45 was starting to seem almost reasonable. 4:15 was starting to become too familiar. The constant was a loud, angry reaction to us telling him it was too early to be awake, and an ensuing wakeup from Abe because of the noise. I typically cursed Jonah silently from my bed and sent more level-headed Josh to hang out with him. We racked our brains trying to figure out the source: Going to bed too early? Too late? Eating too much or not enough? Night light angst? Bad dreams?

Last Wednesday, when he rose for the day at 4:15, I called his teacher at 8:15 to tell her he would not be coming to school that day. Embarrassingly, I broke down on the phone while speaking to her. And then, a half hour later, showed up to drop Jonah off to school. I'm not sure what I was thinking, threatening him with not going to school. He didn't really seem to care, he was so zonked. I thought maybe I could take him to the pediatrician, but when I called the office I just didn't have the nerve to say I needed him seen due to lack of sleep. Instead I left a message for a call back. And flipped through Ferber, anxious to find the missing chapter that would explain what was happening here. And couldn't nap myself, because I was on pins and needles, wondering when I'd get the call saying that Jonah needed picking up.

But somehow, he made it through the day. He was up from 4:15 a.m. to 7:30 p.m., without a nap. He was well-behaved at school. He was just really fucking sleepy.

The pediatrician called me that night. The one I tend to not like as much, being that she is rather gruff. I laid out the situation for her (she in disbelief that Jonah goes to school from 9-3, 5 days a week, like I was torturing him or something), and she said without hesitation, "He misses you. He's trying to get back some of the time with you that the baby gets now." Funny, my own mother said something along those lines when she visited a month ago. And I dissed her for it. Hearing it from someone other than my mother, I was more inclined to listen - just as when I struck out on my own in my early 20s and saw a dentist that had not been taking care of my teeth since I was 4, and he told me it was important to floss, I listened, and have flossed ever since. (For the record, the kinder, gentler pediatrician called back the next morning. She only wanted to talk Ferber, Ferber, Ferber. Go figure.)

Wednesday night I gave Jonah a bath (something I stopped doing when pregnancy made it too uncomfortable, and have continued not doing due to laziness). I read to him before bed. When he woke up at midnight, I took him back to bed and read to him again until he fell asleep. He woke at 5:45 and I got up with him. Thursday night, the same routine, no wakeup at midnight. I was up from 5 a.m. waiting to hear him, and he didn't wake up until 6:40. Same thing last night. I am so hopeful we have broken this bad cycle - stolen the seat, trashed the spokes, shredded the tires.

By way of showing me what is to be reaped when I sow extra time-seeds with my primogenito, Jonah did two amazing things today: drew the first stick figure we've seen him draw, on a birthday card for a friend (because it was a girl, he dispensed with his usual rollercoaster/train/truck mashup, and drew a princess for her), and even signed his name, after a fashion. Tonight, he sat at the computer for his usual post-dinner complement of Sesame Street clips on YouTube, then howled when I turned off the monitor, because he'd wanted to do some typing. I opened the multipage document we've been saving his typing to since he first started at the keyboard (age 2.5), expecting another long stream of binary or machine language. Instead, he wanted to spell words. He started with his first name, then his last name, then the name of a friend, then Abe, and finally (with assistance for the "au"), dinosaur. He sounded out the letters, located them on the keyboard, typed them. He can't quite read, but can type? It's blowing my mind.

Abe, not to be outdone, is cutting his two front top teeth at the same time. So Ferber is out the window lately.

Warming trend

The sun has broken through!

Jonah up at 5:40 today, saying Abe woke him up (well, he was crying, that is true). But strangely, it was a good morning. I tried to get Jonah to sleep more in my bed, and while the snuggle was welcome, he couldn't stop looking out the window. I released him to join Daddy and Abe. When I stumbled in at 7:15, I found a placid scene. Later, Jonah even dressed himself without my needing to be in the room. He was so proud when he came out, fully dressed, with only his shirt on backwards.

Yesterday at school he earned all four stickers on his rest time sticker chart, making me very proud of him indeed. I am starting to believe rest time makes him anxious, though, and it turns out about 80% of the class isn't actually resting, so I hope the teachers are going to make a change to the routine soon.

I'm sure that his name being called at the end of rest time is all he can think about, on his folding cot, in that penumbral classroom. I wish I could magically insinuate myself into the room, enfold him in my arms, and let him surrender to his exhaustion. But then, who am I kidding? I couldn't do that this morning, when it was actually me there, in bed, trying to get him to sleep. No, he is going to have to ride this one out himself.

Dispatch

Abe now says, "Mama." And he seemed to understand that we were seeing real animals at the zoo today which are the same ones he sees in his picture book at night.

At the nearly-deserted barn, the cow mooed suddenly, loudly, scaring the crap out of us. Jonah bolted, yelling, "We've got to get out of here!!!!"

So, what about this? I try to go for one day without being the cause (or one of the causes) of my son's misery. It seems so simple. Tomorrow, at school, his teachers are going to work together to try to figure out why he can't rest during rest time. Ummm, because he's afraid Mama hates him? I hope that's not it. Tonight I asked him why he thought he could not just rest, and he said, "Because I don't know how long I have to rest before the teacher says, 'It's time to get your shoes on. Rest time is over.' "

Micropost

I think perhaps way back when I started this blog I meant for it to be more terse and um, lyrical? Less pedestrian and angsty? But somewhere along the way I stopped writing in my pen and paper journal as frequently, and all the angst has transferred over here. I want to do a little better. Yesterday:

- Snuggling in bed with Jonah who was tired after waking too early. "I'm going to tell you a story," I said. Creation. God created light, and then water and trees, then (said Jonah) "cows and sheeps." And then, somewhere in there, He found time to make bubble wrap. And it was good.

- A visit to the barge in Red Hook, where Jonah dealt quite well with the fact that he was the only kid aboard, so the barge owner was not going to do a juggling show this time. Abe sat on an oriental rug on the old plank floor and bounced up and down while the waves gently rocked. The smells of old wood, fishiness, history. The owner rang every nautical bell he had for us: a dinner bell, a showboat bell, a trawler bell.

- Dinner with grownups! An old friend of Josh's and his lovely girlfriend, the nicest one he's had in a while, we hope she's a keeper. Good red wine (with no red wine headache), lots of belly laughs, pie for dessert. Before eating we had to go and put the kids to bed, but it didn't take more than 30 minutes (possibly even 20).

- I slept on the couch again (sleep training, phase II) and was awakened at 4 a.m. not by crying but by a loud argument outside on the street. I tried to watch without being seen - it was fascinating watching the two men nearly escalate to violence and then rein themselves in, get louder, then quiet themselves almost to stage whispers. I finally gave up on them and went to sleep in bed. No police tape outside today, so I guess they sobered up and moved on.

Better

After having a foundation-shaking crisis of confidence in my mothering skills yesterday, one necessitating a nearly half-hour long phone conversation with Josh punctuated by long silences, I did Jonah a good turn today. Due to a strange turn of sleeping habits (Abe is back in the crap sleep zone, and we must re-sleep train him starting tonight, now that he is in the big crib), Abe was up at 5 and wouldn't nurse back to sleep. I was mortally afraid Jonah would be wakened by Abe's crying and decide to get up to watch the clock turn color - again - I had Josh take him to the living room. Then I slept for just over an hour before Jonah woke up for the day. And since Abe was now asleep again, on Josh, it fell to me to keep Jonah company, something I haven't done in the morning for ages and ages.

The first thing I observed was that he was being very anti-social - either burying himself in books or lying down on the floor to play. I decided to make it clear to him that if he's up, he needs to interact with me - and, more subtly, that if he's too tired, he should go back to bed. It took some doing, but I managed to get him to help me empty the dishwasher (something he used to jump up to do without asking), and decide on something new to eat for breakfast (he shunned blueberry yogurt but did eat a bowl of dry Cheerios and a banana).

Since that had gone well, and since (after some prodding) he dressed himself, I decided he might be ready to try a new workbook I bought him, which is for learning to cut with scissors. I hadn't the faintest clue how to show him to hold the scissors, so every time he took them off his hand he'd forget how to get them back on (and I had to keep checking my own hand to see how to explain it). A few times I thought we might have to stop, as he was fidgeting so much. Eventually, he managed to get through not one, but two pages of cutting exercises. When he started cutting a fairly straight line across the first page, I was so excited I was almost shouting, egging him on. He was beaming with his achievement. He took that first completed page to school for show and tell.

Just a quarter-turn in one direction or the other produces such a radically different effect, both on a gas stove and on my big boy. That's the Zen lesson for today, neatly packaged in a white cardboard take-out container. Now to prepare for my night on the couch, hopefully free of the intimations of mortality that the last round of sleep training provoked...

Neighbors

I'm feeling kind of heartbroken as I type this. Hoping that getting some words out will somehow turn my mood around. It's 8:20 pm, the boys have been asleep for a while, and I'm coming off a truly ghastly day. Our new downstairs neighbor (more on her in a minute) was having a ductless A/C installed today. I knew it was going to happen, knew from our experience how much goddamn noise it makes to drill through a brick wall, but I didn't think that it would interfere with BOTH of Abe's naps today. I didn't think that Jonah would come home with no socks under his sneakers, due to a vague conflict with the teacher I already don't like very much (he claims she took his socks away because he wasn't listening - currently trying via email to get to the bottom of THAT), and proceeded to have the shittiest afternoon possible. Abe actually seemed a little scared of him at times. He was howling, bellowing for food, refusing to tell me what he wanted, etc, when he wasn't flailing around on the floor and slapping me. He finally, gratefully, ceded to sleep at 7 pm. What I had to thank for this is his brand new clock, which has color-coded lights to signal to him when it is OK to wake and when it is not. This morning he got up to pee (since he now sleeps in underwear) too early, then decided he'd just stay up to watch the light change to green. Great.

Our new downstairs neighbor does not, shall we say, conform to the demographic profile of the building. She waltzed in and snapped up the apartment, paying all cash for it (apparently some family money). She appears to be an absent-minded academic. Abe and I met her earlier this week, and what she had to say to darling, adorable Abe was this: "I guess you'll have to get used to me." This morning, I was coming down the stairs on my way to take Jonah to school. I introduced them. She said, "But I already met you, didn't I?" She was confusing JONAH for ABE. This woman has not even the slightest clue about children, and she is moving into a building whose residents (counting from top to bottom) are a nearly 4 year old girl, two boys of 8 months and almost 4 years, and, in the basement, twin boys due about a month from now. She saw the strollers during the open house. I am praying she understands just what she is getting into.

Our departed neighbors are so, SO missed. They were Irish and Italian, Boston-born, and just the nicest people you could ever hope to wind up in a building with. I'd go so far as to say they felt like family. Emails I traded with them this week find them kind of shell-shocked about being gone from such a close-knit building, but happy about having more space for their family (which includes a seasonal grandma). They have a boy who is 6 and a baby just a couple months older than Abe, and even when we weren't seeing each other as often, I miss the bustle emanating from their apartment. Jonah misses the many cool cars he borrowed from James. I even miss their patio furniture. We're throwing a party for them in a couple of weeks. I can't wait to see them again.

This afternoon I looked out to the backyard and saw the new owner, kind of floating around in her own head, with a long pruning stick in her hand, absent-mindedly jabbing at high branches while the A/C installer called her, trying repeatedly to get her attention through her thick fog. It freaks me out that we're now to live our lives over the head of this kooky character, and I worry about the first passive aggressive note we get about "noise." As unbearable as the thought is, because I love this place, I suspect that in the Farewell Symphony of our young condo, we may be the next instrument to leave the stage.

OK, mood enhancement FAIL. Off to drink some yummy tea and play Angry Birds.

Onward and upward

Jonah is sleeping well, and late! And tonight is his first night in underwear since we finally got night lights for the hallway, in the event of a trip to the bathroom. This afternoon I left Abe with Josh, and took Jonah (with his BFF Sasha, our upstairs neighbor, and just 6 days older) to a kid-friendly dance recital in a Chelsea loft, which was followed by snacks and hula hooping. It was a delight to behold the kids race into the just-emptied dance space after the performance, and watch them strike poses similar to those the dancers had held. They aren't even 4 years old, but they really gleaned something from the experience of watching the dancers. We may go back next month (since Jonah didn't manage to break anything in the apartment).

When I got back home after a long afternoon away, confirmation that what Abe is doing now is WAVING! With one hand and then BOTH ARMS, FRANTICALLY! He shook his arms so violently when he saw me and smiled so hard I thought he'd split his face open. Eight months in a couple of days, and cuter by the minute.

And we just watched a heartwarming film about a female drifter who freezes to death in a ditch. OK, it wasn't heartwarming, but it was amazing. So far, a great weekend.

ReparationsMom

With only slight hiccups (night I pulled him into bed when he cried, without realizing it, and found Abe on my chest at 4 a.m.; last night, Abe woke screaming from having passed a poop that felt like slightly dried out clay), things have gotten a lot better in the sleep department. So I've been able to move on to the next item on the agenda, namely, repairing my relationship with my firstborn. Recognizing my anger is only a fraction of the battle, that is now clear. Finding a way back to Jonah, rebuilding his self-esteem (which I must believe has suffered as a result of my anger, if his uttering, after a tantrum, "I want to throw myself away!" is to be considered a window into his psyche), is my first priority.

As Abe gets farther into solids and starts eating three mini-meals per day or so, I am finding that the hours between feeds are increasing almost exponentially, leaving me with some time to kill. Abe is happiest these days on the living room rug, where he will promptly jolt himself from seated to flat on his face, swimming in the air and trying like hell to figure out how to do a pushup and get his butt up so he can finally start crawling. In the meantime, he is perfecting the roll-and-pivot method of exploring the apartment, and often winds up in odd places, like jammed up against the French doors, or under the couch. He waits there, patiently, to be extracted.

Jonah just had his first full week of school in ages, since there was a lot of time off for the Jewish holidays. The teacher who works with him for five hours a week in the classroom reported that he did not have a great week - he was constantly distracted, not able to pay attention, not responding when his name was called, etc. It took us a great while to realize that he is simply TIRED. We were keeping to his same bedtime, not realizing that the longer school day, combined with the fact he doesn't nap there, is exhausting him. We've started getting him to bed a full hour earlier, and I'm hoping we will reap the benefits next week.

In the meantime, we had a so-so outing with him today (again with the sleepiness), but when we got home, Josh got to work preparing a succulent dinner he'd been planning to cook for ages, and I got to spend quality time with the kids. Quality time I define as any time during which I can fully enjoy motherhood and not feel stressed out about the demands that one boy or the other is making. Abe, having successfully and painlessly pooped (at last!), was on the living room floor doing his calisthenics, and I settled into the couch with Jonah, who was holding up some obnoxious little Tonka books we got a while back. He wanted to read those with me. They are board books that fit in your palm, the illustrations are hideous, but who would have thunk it? He was treating these books as his freaking Rosetta stone. I didn't even get a chance to say "The tow truck pulls cars and trucks" before he'd pointed to the word "cars" on the page and said, "That says, CARS!" He delighted in finding words that I challenged him to find on each page, solely by figuring out which ones started with the right letter. I was breathless, watching all of this come together for him. Later, while we read Mike Mulligan and the Steam Shovel before bed, he said, "We can move things with our bodies." I said, "No we can't! Can you move a car with your body?" He thought for a millisecond, then replied, "Well, we can use our hands on the steering wheel." I was floored by this rapid use of logic.

Today he rode the carousel with me, and then solo. During the long wait for his second ride, I motioned "I love you" to him through the fence and he motioned it back at me. I think this physical show of affection means more to him (and me) than the words, and it bridged the gap between one carousel ride and the next, the distance between a penitent mom and her sometimes-petulant nearly-4 year old, on a spotlessly blue-skied October afternoon. I hope like hell this was the opening of a new path.

Quitting the night shift

This is the (fourth? fifth?) night of Abe's sleep training. Whichever night it is that we wait 15 full minutes before going to him, just for starters.

Sometime mid-last week, when Abe started waking five or six times a night to nurse, I finally hit the wall. I dug trusty Ferber out and started reading it again. Though of course once you've read his book once, you don't actually read the words again. You just flip through until you find the handy chart with suggested intervals for leaving your child to cry when he wakes, and go from there. And hopefully you don't cave. The first night, I stayed in the bedroom, but Josh got up and attended to him in the night. It was a rough night. Luckily the noise didn't wake Jonah, nor our downstairs neighbors, who are in the process of sleep re-training their baby son, who is a couple months older than Abe.

Thursday I was bleary-eyed despite extra caffeine, and the mom of a classmate of Jonah's who came for a playdate suggested that I was the problem - that Abe can smell my presence in the room (meaning my milk, of course, and not the fact that my new deodorant sometimes leaves me smelling like a dirty hippie) and that's why he's staying awake, holding out for the good stuff. So Thursday night I took to the couch. An excellent couch for sleeping, says my mom, who chooses it over the Aerobed when visiting.

I waited and waited to go to bed. I kept listening for noise in the baby monitor. I couldn't seem to shut off the computer. And I definitely didn't want to lie down on the couch. Even though we bought this particular couch because it could accommodate our extra length, for naps, I just couldn't seem to settle down. There was the nervousness of the sleep training endeavor, sure, but also something else at play. I was starting to take my leave of a pretty major component of my job.

For seven and a half months, I have been Abe's night nurse. I have picked him up each time he's let out something slightly longer than a whimper, and I have soothed him back to sleep in the most primal way. (Of course, the fact that he would fall asleep within two minutes of latching on kind of escaped me until I could no longer function on such interrupted sleep.) My reward has been lowering him carefully back into the crib and watching his arms flop above his head in sleep-surrender, and then flopping back onto my bed and sinking back into another sleep cycle. Or, when I was too tired to do that, tucking him under my arm and having him sleep there.

To sleep on the couch was too frightening the other night, because I sensed an accelerating cascade of farewells: to my smiling, immobile baby who does not yet wreak general havoc (as his gleaming eyes seem to promise he may); to nursing, forever, since we most likely won't have any more kids; to our tiny roommate, who will eventually go and share a room with his big brother, resulting in (I hope, I fear) whispered flashlight conversations that neither I nor Josh will be privy to.

Yes, virtually all of my life flashed before my eyes, simply due to one night on the couch. To sleep on the couch seemed to be a certain succumbing to mortality. Even though I know otherwise, I daresay Abe slept better than I did that night.

AngerMom

Yom Kippur was Saturday. Friday, Jonah was off school, and instead of being ActivityMom and being organized about our day, I decided to go free-form and not plan anything to do with Jonah (other than baking a honey cake to take to my in-laws). I soon realized my error. Jonah stayed in his pajamas until 11, despite several attempts to get him to change. He was confined to his room about 5 different times. And my anger grew and grew. When I found myself dragging him down the hall to go to the bathroom (another point of contention), I realized that his frozen smile was what was getting me so mad. It was fear, his fear of me, fixing that smile in place, and I was getting more and more angry at him in the hopes of making that smile disappear.

In a moment I realized the work that is cut out for me for the coming year: Send that anger packing, back up my family tree where it came from. This isn't something optional, and it's not something I am prepared to fail at. God must know that I'm serious, because it looks like He has given me another chance. The terrible notion of having my beloved firstborn fear me is hopefully enough to keep me motivated. Jonah will be off school for ten days, starting later on this week. Tomorrow is my last day of "freedom" for a while. Abe's sitter is coming. I'll get out on my bike, have lunch somewhere, read a book, and try to regroup in preparation for Camp Mama Redux.

Abe is seven months, and starting to get into solid food at last. HE is solid, feeling heavier literally every time I lift him up after a feeding. But his sleep has gone to crap. I am hoping a tooth on the way is what's causing this, because the idea that his wonderful sleep habits have evaporated, rather than gone on temporary hiatus, is something I'm not prepared to accept! This afternoon we have music class again. I can't wait to see him bounce as he plays the huge drum, smile while we dance, and take in this activity which is 100% for and about him.

ActivityMom

All it took was for September to hit. Now I am officially, irrevocably tied to the kids' schedules. Yes, even Abey has one, now that he's taking a class. His first Music Together session was today, at just shy of 7 months. He was pretty sleepy before we got there, but his wide eyes grew even wider when he saw what was waiting for him: enormous drums to bang on (I sat him in front of one and he went at it full tilt), songs, dancing, and OTHER BABIES! Poor kid, I had no idea how starved he was for a peer group. The baby who sat closest to us looked like someone had stuffed a dumpling into infant-sized skinny jeans (why? WHY???). Abe was looking everywhere and loving every moment. He even forgot to nurse the entire time!

Jonah came out of school today eager to tell me all about it. But wait! After a marathon day at school, I dragged him to a trial of a class called "Sing, Dance, and Make Believe." And he loved it. And he could tell me the names of the boys in the class, because there were a grand total of three. I went ahead and registered him anyway - how is he to know that boys aren't supposed to sing and dance? I hope he never figures that one out.

I'm starting to hear more and more about school lately, and starting to suspect not all of it is invented out of whole cloth. The class started studying the story of Jonah today (in time for Yom Kippur). I was reminded of the Yom Kippur before Jonah was born, when I, ignorant of what kind of baby I'd have, read the story of Jonah in the afternoon and somewhere deep in my unconscious mind decided that I'd be having a boy. And what a boy - a sweet, headstrong, impossible, irrepressible boy.

I had another flare-up of anger at Jonah over the weekend, enough to remind me that of all times of year, this is the one to really take stock of what I'm doing and how I'm doing it, and to make necessary changes, instead of resting on the excuses that circumstance provides at any given moment. Jonah deserves better.

An epistolary moment

Dear Abe,

You are six and a half months old. Pushing seven, let's say. I have seen it as my job to feed you on demand. But it is time to renegotiate what demand really means, adorable fellow. There is no possible way that you need to be feeding as often if not more often than a newborn - or are you plotting some growth spurt the likes of which we have never before seen? You've already got a couple pounds on your brother at this age, you are SOLID, and you are solidly into 9 month clothes.

Tonight I let you cry a little when I detached you from the boob and put you back in your crib. Then I went back, rinsed, lathered, repeated, and still you cried. What gives? You sobbed and screamed and roared the whole time Daddy was with you (now I begin to understand why the sitter was so rattled while trying to put you down for a nap last week), and when I came back you nursed desperately, exhausted from your exertion, then conked out flat on your back, arms above your head in a pose of surrender. I came out of the room and realized that I can't really keep doing this. It's time for some training to come your way, much as we hate to ponder it, much as it seems logistically impossible, since you sleep in our room and since your brother needs to try to get some sleep in his. We let Jonah go until a year before we sleep trained - while I increasingly lost my mind every time he peeped in the night. I still remember stalking out of the apartment on a freezing night before his first birthday, sitting on a bench in a dark plaza, wondering when my lost mind would return. The training took all of three nights.

Abe, can we admit this? You don't need the midnight snack anymore. You don't need the 3 a.m. top-up or the 5 a.m. happy meal. What you need, my little friend of the long eyelashes, is solid food (yes, I have noticed the face you make when we give it to you - we'll work with you until we find out what you like), and uninterrupted sleep. What I need is the very same (perhaps even the same portion sizes of the solid food, and the same amount of uninterrupted sleep).

To sum up: Things are going to suck. But ultimately they will get better. For all of us.

Love,
Mama

Dear Jonah,

Are you about to learn to read?!?!?! I am dumbfounded by your very sudden and obsessive interest in not just letters and words (which has been with you for ages) but sounds and spelling and figuring things out. I have been anticipating this magic moment since you were born, and the idea that it might not be far off (thanks to your amazing new teacher at school) fills me with indescribable joy. As I told Daddy tonight, "Once you can read, they can't keep secrets from you."

On the other hand, once you can read, you'll have to choose to read with us rather than on your own. I hope you'll keep reading with us. I can't wait to read Alice in Wonderland with you, a page each, every night, like I did with my dad when I was a kid. I can't wait to take you to the library and have you choose books because you like not just their pictures, but their contents. I can't wait for you to type your first email to Saba and Savta. Your budding literacy is blowing my mind. Please don't let kids at school with behavior problems distract you from this incredible achievement. And please don't let the humorless & borderline mean assistant teacher who is back this year get you down.

Love,
Mama

Dear Boys,

Keep making each other shriek with laughter please. This is the best stuff. I hope it continues forever.

Maternal aphasia: Month 6.25

Back from our two vacations (one with nuclear family, the other with extended), I am ready to admit something: I was forced to face the fact of my quick temper while we were away (primarily via one experience involving someone else's), and I made a public avowal to start working on this. Immediately.

Having grown up with a father whose hair-trigger temper kept me in line, even as I observed its lack of effect on my brothers, I am aware of its source. But as I've noticed that my own displays of rage are promptly returned to my feet by a nearly 3.75-year-old, who is just as willing to yell as I am, I've started recognizing the error of my way. This is no way to be, going forward. This is no place to come from, looking backward. The half-yearling looks on with concern when yelling is going on. I owe him a chance to not hear it.

Breaking news

Since I'm doing such a piss-poor job recording the boys' milestones, here's one: Tonight, before going to bed, Jonah kissed Abe on the head and said, "I love you, Abey." Yes, that pretty much makes up for all the "no wanna pee" tantrums. At least until tomorrow, kid.

Maternal aphasia: Month 5.75

Abe is sleeping his morning nap, which may end in about five minutes. Jonah is at his last week of summer camp. It is so, SO hard to take a step back these days. When I have a moment to myself, I lapse into time-sucking computer games (which I blame on summer indolence), or else frantic meal-planning and list-making. Summer vacation is days away - a week in a cottage in Cape Cod which is actually smaller than our apartment. We will sink or swim there, methinks. Hopefully more swimming than sinking.

Abe is becoming a master of pivoting - he uses it as a means of locomotion. This morning he would be in a completely different place on the rug every time I checked, and give me the slyest little smile when I would ask him how he got there. He seems able to handle tripod sitting (when I remember to do it) so I am hopeful sitting is not far off. Sitting unassisted is such a crucial milestone - I remember it as a huge improvement to our life with Jonah when he did it, around six months. Once he can sit I will register him for Music Together. Because he's screaming these days, and I want to channel that into singing SOON.

Jonah is mercurial these days. The mere suggestion that he go pee in the morning can bring on a Class A tantrum, even if he's holding so much pee in, it comes out like water from a firehose when he finally relents. (The boy has serious control.) We opened Pandora's box last week and introduced him to the Wii Fit, and he makes daily requests to play those games. For now, we are making him choose between that and YouTube for his "screen fix." I feel like a failure because the summer is quickly ending, and I've gotten nowhere in getting him more interested in fine-motor activities, like writing, cutting, drawing, etc. He definitely likes cooking, though, and making chicken cutlets is much faster when he helps out. I got him some nylon serrated knives for kids, and now he can help chop veggies (which he will then refuse to try).

And, if I may break my silence with regard to myself these days, I am down 25 pounds since early May, thanks to Weight Watchers (and more recently, the acquisition of a home seltzer maker, which enables me to drink a full liter of water at a time). I didn't succeed nearly as dramatically in losing weight after Jonah was born, probably because I was back at work part-time and depressed about it. I am aiming to lose another 20, which will put me at my wedding weight and give me a decent buffer if I gain a few pounds back. I'm finding I can eat to slight excess on the weekends and still come out OK on Monday morning, which is my weigh-in day. I haven't been drinking as much beer as I'd like, though. Cape Cod, with its fried fish and ice cream, may not help much. But I am relearning how to measure my portions and how to replace eating with other things. Except now the other things (like obsessive computer game playing) need to be replaced with healthier endeavors. On that note, off to start a load of laundry.

Maternal aphasia: Month 5

Happy 5 months Abe! In less than half a year you've turned us into your devoted mama and daddy, and your big brother into a quivering puddle of sweetness who cannot resist grabbing and nuzzling your little hands and feet at every opportunity (and by that I mean, EVERY opportunity). There is nothing sweeter than your smile, than your head slumped in sleep against my chest, than the weight of you when I lift you up after nursing and I feel how very solid you are. You would be a very hard act to follow and the feeling in my heart these days is, enough babies. Hard to know if my ovaries are on board with that plan.

Happy July, Jonah! You are almost 43 months old. Congratulations. Now would you, could you, PLEASE lighten up? It seems that every morning has to start with you whining that you don't want to go pee. And then it's a downward spiral to power struggles over cleaning up your infinite cars, which you repeatedly roll in every direction in the living room. Admit it: It's not play, it's passive aggression. I can absolutely understand why the subtitle of the book Your Three Year Old is: Friend or Enemy? For the record, Jonah, I am sick of taking your toys away when you misbehave. I am tired of telling you to be a good listener. And I am fed up with myself whenever I just yell at you instead of trying to find some magical third way to get you to do what you need to be doing. A wise mama of many more children than I have recently let me in on her coping technique when things are not getting done: She has a mental filter, and in every situation, she applies it, asking herself whether the behavior of the child in question is really worth getting angry over, or not. If not, she moves on and doesn't engage. I need to practice...

Maternal aphasia: Month 4.5

Stop!!!!!! Time is passing way too quickly and I can't update this blog weekly. Let's try for bi-weekly, or semi-monthly, or, as I used to note in the database I used to check in periodicals at the IMF library, "24TY."

I'm on borrowed time - it's 11:15 pm and I was out late at a rock show last night (the second I've attended since Abe was born, and maybe the last for a while, since the morning after is always brutal) - but today was, despite the 100+ degree temp, one of the best with the two kids in a long time. We just hunkered down and enjoyed being with each other today. Jonah and I made an aquarium mural, and then he decided we should hang the paper on his bedroom wall and pretend it was a movie that we all sat on his bed to watch. He was concerned that Abe would be afraid of the shark. Then Jonah played the "pouring game," which involves him at the kitchen sink with all manner of vessels, pouring water between them and using tools like a ladle and a funnel to make it more fun (and instructive).

Abe is an amazing creature. Both kids have had a summer cold for about 4 days, and despite this, my little one soldiers on, not nearly as fussy as he could be. He is scooting and rolling around and never stays where we leave him for very long. He sometimes speaks in a low, guttural growl that I remember from Jonah at this stage. Yet he's an excellent listener when you talk to him. Tonight I was folding a fitted sheet while he was lying on our bed looking up at me. He was interested in the way I kept disappearing and reappearing from behind the sheet. And I told him that I was doing one of the things in life that is the most frustrating, and that I hoped that his biggest frustration in life would be trying to fold a fitted sheet properly. He listened, eyes gleaming, smirking a little. I felt as though I were in the presence of a confidant. It was a lovely thing.

Maternal aphasia: Month Four

Abe is officially four months old today, and was weighed and measured accordingly. He gained three pounds since our last checkup, grew another inch, which puts him in the 94th percentile for height. The height is no surprise, but I'm thrilled that his weight gain is finally established. I had dark days early on, where I doubted myself for not giving formula to bulk him up. But he didn't need it. He did get a small amount of it, in those early weeks, so he doesn't have a "virgin gut" (a ridiculous phrase I learned on a breastfeeding website). The doctor - there are two in the practice, and today we got the one who is 100% friendly and lovable, as opposed to the one who is anxious and excitable and quick to alarm - came in and saw Abe sitting happily in the Bumbo and said he looked like a judge. He got two shots and one oral dose of vaccine and took them like a champ.

Jonah went the whole week at school without a single potty accident, which was a welcome relief after he dropped a turd on the floor of a restaurant last Sunday (there were no other diners, fortunately). He seems poised at the brink of big changes - he makes plans and expects to have them implemented, but he also demands to take part in rituals like meal preparation and dinner, and woe betide if we don't have some job for him, or we want him to go to sleep before we've eaten our own dinner. He turns three and a half on Sunday. I told him I'd bake him half a cake - wonder if I'll have the time and energy. Perhaps we'll just make pancakes for Daddy instead.

This afternoon I had the most unexpected respite - Jonah (who has been rising too early all week) crashed on the couch for a much-needed nap, and Abe settled down to sleep after an extended nursing session, during which I also nodded off. The past two nights, both boys have gone to sleep around 8 pm, leaving us staring at each other and wondering what to do with all the child-free time. My mind is not used to this kind of break - I need to become better, faster, at shifting from Mama mode to grownup mode, or all these hours and half-hours will slip through my fingers and suddenly I'll be 45 and the kids won't need me so much and I won't be able to remember what I used to do for recreation or release.

Maternal aphasia: Week Sixteen/Month Four

So it turns out that around sixteen weeks is when you start losing track of the weeks of your new baby's life. Plus, things get confusing - yesterday Abe turned sixteen weeks, but he won't be four months until next Friday. So far he is absolutely acting his age, which means, unfortunately, that we're probably in for a bit of a sleep shakeup. His skills are developing fast and furiously - he seems to be perhaps even a little more advanced than his brother was at this stage, not that I aim to compare them... This means he wakes himself up at night because he has scooted himself into an uncomfortable corner of his crib, and I am too tired to try to just put him back in the right position and see if he'll fall back asleep. This means I'm still spending about three hours a night with him on my chest, either nursing or sleeping or fighting to nurse or sleep, while I am uncomfortable due to his increasing weight on my sternum. My pneumonia is cleared but for optimal healing, I probably am not supposed to sleep with a wiggly baby on my chest.

I am in fact supposed to "take it easy" for the next 3 weeks. Luckily Jonah is in school for two more weeks, and then that leaves just a few full days that I need to lay low before I can resume my normal exertions. I have to believe we can do this. The fact that I'm starting out not nearly as weak as last time is encouraging, but also worries me that I'll try to overdo it before I'm ready. I was flying Abe above me like an airplane before, and then wondered if that could be considered "taking it easy."

I wish someone could tell me why motherhood gives me pneumonia. Now that I've had it twice in a year and a half I'm starting to worry it is lurking - dark shadow in my lungs, ready to strike at the slightest show of weakness on my part. Plenty of moms have as much or more on their plates than I do, and they don't get pneumonia! I'm back to squirting a couple of droppers full of astragalus tincture into my drinking water every day. It tastes nasty so it must be improving my "lung chi," right? RIGHT?

In other news, Jonah is becoming a potty champ. I'm so proud of him but still in such disbelief that he finally figured it out. Now we just have to figure out when we can back off and stop asking him if he needs to go. He doesn't seem to have a problem pooping or peeing in toilets outside our house, which is great. I almost think he sees it as an adventure - a whole new dimension to the outside world, with its differing fixtures and levels of cleanliness and soap dispensers. We'll be spending lots of time in the cafe around the corner from our house, since Jonah loves it there, and their bathroom is clean and very kid-friendly and, most importantly, right by the window into the kitchen where Jonah stands to watch them baking.

I caught myself trying to write a poem the other evening, while waiting to see the doctor. Instead of bringing reading material I brought a small notebook that I've used on and off for writing for the past few years. I didn't know where I was going to go when I started scribbling, but I wound up with a possible germ for a poem in there. Now I just have to find the time and inclination to follow it through...

Maternal aphasia: Week Fifteen

In case I forgot this, with babies things can turn on a dime. My sweet little sleeper is still a sweet little sleeper, but he has been doing so in his own crib almost since the moment I wrote the last post. One morning I finally got tired of waking up groggy with Abe's increasing weight on my sternum, or else patting down the blankets making sure he didn't wind up under them, and we cleared all the crap we'd been storing in his crib away, and I put him down, swaddled, for a nap. And it worked. And then I put him down for another one later that day. And it worked. And basically he loves to sleep in a crib.

The only problem is: me. When he wakes at night, I have done what I've always done, the lazy thing, which is bring him into bed, latch him on, and fall back asleep as soon as possible. Which leads to what I described above: groggy, backache, panicked search for baby. Last night, for the first time, I made an effort to stay awake. The sum total of my strategy was waking Josh up to ask him for his Blackberry to play with. Apparently access to the internet can keep me awake for an hour at a time, which was the length of the two wakeups.

Well, there may have been a bit of adrenaline rushing too. See, I've had this cold for two weeks? And a bad cough the past 5 days? And yesterday evening I finally saw my doctor. When she listened to my breathing for more than the requisite amount of time, giving me breaks in between breaths "so you don't pass out," I started fearing the worst. Yup, I've been struck down with pneumonia again, left lung this time. I got it in my right lung on Halloween 2008, wound up in the ER. This time, luckily, the fever/chills have been minimal, which means I have "walking pneumonia." Which means I can sort of function, but it totally winds me to do so.

This afternoon with both kids was the first since my diagnosis (I have yet to get my chest x-ray, as the machine was broken at the place I was going to go this evening). I kept praying for rain so Jonah wouldn't feel so bad about not going outside. No dice. Then I prayed for the phone to ring with a playdate fallen from heaven. No dice. What I got instead was increasing angst from Jonah about not going outside (though never actually verbalized) and finally, the pièce de résistance: my big boy, who is learning to use the potty, wedged himself inside a closet door and peed on the floor there. Thanks, buddy. That was around 4:30 pm, and I decided I couldn't possibly go on, so I tearfully summoned Josh home from work early. Things had settled somewhat by the time he got back, but I had to put Jonah back in a diaper, which I regretted, and the yelling match we'd had with each other after the closet incident woke Abe up from his attempt at a nap.

I felt like a huge failure. Most days I do. Because I'm supposed to have this figured out by now, how to engage the baby just enough to hit all of his milestones on or before schedule, while at the same time doing all of the great things I'm supposed to be doing at home to help Jonah with his various fine and gross motor skill delays , still allowing for time to just goof off and have fun and enjoy being a mom (and then exercise and eat right). I'd say I get the goof off/enjoy time about 10 minutes a day, max, and the rest is either logistics, threats aimed at getting day-to-day tasks like putting on shoes accomplished, answering the same question 30 times in a row, or changing diapers. Of course, there are hugs and kisses all day, and Abe pretty much will smile at anything, so I try to make the most of those moments. Still wasn't enough to save my health this time around.

Maternal aphasia: Week Thirteen

Last night when my swaddled baby boy was brought to bed by Josh, I couldn't bear it and may have wept a little. I told Josh that I don't know if Abe will ever sleep in his own crib, because the joy of that moment, when he is brought in, wrapped and sweetly sleeping with the most pure expression of relaxation on his face, is something that will be very, very hard to give up. That, and the fact that he's probably the last of a series. Between the cost of living where we do, and the fact that pregnancy is hard on the body, and perhaps that I can't fathom keeping good track of three kids, even though my parents did, I think we're probably done reproducing. Which makes me sad, naturally, as the weeks of Abe's short life start piling up behind us. My body is capable of such an incredible feat, and I'm not going to do it again? I am going to need to mourn this for a while.

But not on Abe's watch. This baby is one of the happiest I have ever encountered. My cousin's second son was also similarly smiley last time we saw him, and I remember wondering how it was possible. It is possible. Abe can be screaming his head off when he's about to get a diaper changed, but as soon as the dirty diaper comes off, and he feels the cool air on his bottom, he calms immediately and starts smiling, cooing, provoking us to smile. I'm a junkie for it, and when I'm with both kids I guiltily prolong diaper changes just to soak up more of those smiles. He's got what can now be called the family smile, the one that comes from Daddy, and starts in the eyes.

Jonah is being "very three," but occasionally, like yesterday, we have days that are good through and through, when whining and screaming is at a minimum and the cooperative, easygoing, fun to be with kid that he is never leaves the building. Yes, he did slap his brother earlier this week, and he ran across a street without stopping when I asked him to today, but the angel on his shoulder protected him from the latter, and Mama Bear scolded him for the former, and we still love each other. In fact, we have a new thing we say, which he starts: "I love you ONE." "I love you TWO." And so on until he gets tired of it (we never get to ten). Earlier this week we were invited to a dinner that didn't start until quite late, and other kids from his school were there. I peeped in to the kids' room at one point late in the evening (we didn't get home until 11) and found two six-year-olds sitting on the bed and interrogating Jonah thus: "What do you LOVE? What do you like TO DO?" Poor kid was so tired and confused that he didn't answer. When I repeated the question for him, he looked up, blinking, and said in a tiny voice, "I love... bagels?" Moments like that, and when I watch Jonah holding Abe's hand and becoming a loving and sweet big brother in front of my very eyes, make me feel idiotic for mourning the fact we aren't having more kids.

Maternal aphasia: Week Eleven

I knew the blog would start to lag. Apparently even a once-a-week check-in is a tall order these days. I get to the end of the day grateful for nightfall, for Jonah's bedtime, for Abe's big sleep, but wondering when the thank you notes will get written, when the laundry mountain will start eroding, when I will have time to plan my next move.

Abe is the best little sleeper this side of the Mississippi. He starts his night in the swing (tonight I didn't even have to switch it on), and then between 11 and midnight, Josh makes the daring attempt to transfer him to our bed. Last night, his virtuosity shone through, as he needed to CHANGE SWADDLE BLANKETS while attempting not to wake Abe, who had already started fussing. The operation was a success. Though I was smug in the knowledge that if it hadn't been, there was a bottle of milk I'd just pumped in the fridge, and I would have been able to go to sleep while my milk filled Abe's little belly in another room.

When he's awake, Abe likes staring intently at the ceiling fan, gesturing at it with wild hands and legs. He is sure it is sending him a message.

Jonah has been challenging us on a daily basis. Today I had to cancel another planned outing, to the library, due to insubordination in the ranks (he jumped down each step of our crumbling, treacherous outside stoop, despite my warning him at each step not to). But I tried really hard to keep calm, and even though he initially went ballistic and I thought he'd hurt himself bashing into walls or a door, he finally did settle down and we had a quiet talk about what happened, followed by some very sweet time reading together (while I nursed Abe) and then working on a new jigsaw puzzle.

It really helps when I don't lose perspective. It helps even more when I don't feel 100% invested in the plans that get canceled. Last week, when we were supposed to go to IKEA for apple cake and then take Jonah's scooter out on the Red Hook piers, I was much more disappointed when I had to cancel it, and this made me less patient and less loving.

In other news, it seems that ten weeks postpartum was the charm this time around. I haven't bled in almost two weeks. I wish this meant that my old clothes suddenly fit, that I had some semblance of a libido, and that the heavens opened and the angels sang. But not having to wear pantiliners or pads anymore? I'll take it.

Maternal aphasia: Week Nine

In a few minutes I head out for a checkup, as the bleeding seems to have gotten heavier over the past day. It is nothing dangerous, and might even just be the (very early, very unwelcome) return of my period. Perhaps more than you bargained on reading about by coming here, but that's where I'm at.

Abe is sleeping on my chest after having used me, yet again, as a human pacifier/sleep aid. I love it too much to stop him. But I will need to start encouraging him to get to sleep on his own, in his own bed, in the next couple weeks, if we're ever going to get back to "normal." His weight gain is slow, so I'm loath to deny him any chance at the breast, which will stimulate more milk production.

Jonah is mercurial and bursts into tears at the slightest provocation. The whining is unreal and hard to stop and even harder not to reward with a response to his requests. Yesterday he drove the people in the checkout line at the food coop nuts with a persistent, whined request for a bialy that I was not going to buy him, since he'd already carbo-loaded with goldfish crackers and it was closing in on dinner time. I stood my ground, but it really sucked.

I think the permanence of the change in our family has finally set in. He isn't crazy about it, most of the time. But then he'll notice Abe and get all excited: "His eyes are open! Look! Hey, big guy!" All delivered in the breathy baby-talk voice he mimics from me. I want to believe it's not 100% pandering to Mama, that he actually takes some small measure of interest in his baby brother.

And me? Most of the time I feel alright. Until I have to, you know, go dress shopping for an upcoming family event. Then I feel like a horrible, fat, bleeding whale. Not looking forward to seeing myself in the photos from that album.

But it is undeniably spring, I have a wonderful family, and the sun is hitting the ginkgo leaves out the window and making them look gold. It's all going to be fine.

Maternal aphasia: Week Seven

Spring has hit hard. It's upwards of 85 degrees out there, sunny, the playgrounds are begging for sprinklers to be turned on. We hit the botanical gardens this morning, my boys and I. Some friends joined us but soon bailed out due to crankiness and the strength of the sun. I should be running in fear of my life from this sun and heat, but it seems like a brand new invention. Having a small baby strapped to me is not so comfortable in the heat, however - we both got home soaked. The search for a double stroller kicks into high gear starting now.

But on the way home I was overcome by the heat and my exhaustion, and made a panicked call to Josh who I thought could bail me out, Wednesdays being generally a less structured day for him. But a client called with an emergency, so he had to rush out. I felt totally bereft, all of a sudden. Then Jonah wanted to get out of the stroller and splash in the wake of a fountain in front of the museum, despite his sleepiness. I told him no, that we needed to get home, and he bawled for a few minutes. Then asked for an Italian ice, a red one, which I bought him, despite the fact that I knew he wouldn't touch it. I ate the ice, undoubtedly getting my lips and tongue day-glo red and looking to passersby like a pretty mean mom, for eating an ice while my stroller-bound child had none. Luckily Josh was still home when we got back, and helped me bump the stroller up the steps. Jonah sleeps there still, over an hour later, and I'm enjoying the breeze through the living room window and Abe's playmat noises.

The temporary panic was induced by the fact that tomorrow is seven weeks since I gave birth, and I continue to bleed. I have been warned not to exert myself; I do not know how to avoid it. Can one continually tell a 3 year old he can't go in the swing at the playground, because Mama is holding his baby brother and because he's too long to lift that high? So I cave, and lift, and then I bleed again. Tomorrow is my postpartum checkup, and I'm fully expecting to be sternly warned about exertions I can do little to avoid...

Maternal aphasia: Week Six

I just put Abe down in his crib asleep and walked out of the room. Not that remarkable, except that we haven't been doing this. In six weeks the babe has not slept more than 20 minutes in his crib. This needs to change, because we aren't human cribs, and six weeks old is a good time for a baby to start accepting certain home truths. Also: Mama is not your pacifier. Your pacifier is made of silicone and is called NUK, so please, stop spitting it out.

Jonah is on school vacation and I was dreading the three days alone with him and Abe before the weekend. I needn't have. Yesterday the weather was not good, and we all had a good time. Today the weather was phenomenal, and we all had a good time. Jonah was very affectionate with me today - perhaps he is starting to get back to his good old self? - and the number of times he used his ugly new catchphrase ("I don't like it!") was under five, I think. Compared with 25,000 times in previous days.

I wish I could find a way to nap during the day. Yesterday Jonah napped in the car, but Abe was awake, so I spent 90 minutes nursing him and hanging out with him in the front seat. Today was a stroller nap day, so at least we got to the corner cafe (where we ran into two people we knew - ah, Sesame Street), and I fortified myself with iced coffee. But there is no substitute for coming home, having Jonah nap in his bed, and getting some prone time for myself. Of course, in another 15 years Jonah will leave the house and I'll get regular naps and be sad about it...

Maternal aphasia: Weeks Five-Six

It caught up to me. Time. The lack thereof. I wondered when I'd fall off posting weekly, which is really not such a challenging thing. But Jonah is on school vacation, Abe is getting simultaneously more interactive and more demanding and more mercurial, and I am bone tired. I should get ready for bed right now, though getting ready for bed with a new baby in the house is more like being an actor dressing for the evening's performance.

The greatest innovation of the past couple of weeks has to be the smile. The photo above is not even the best example of it - it is strangely resistant to camera documentation. But it leaves its imprint right where it needs to - on my soul.

Maternal aphasia: Week Four

Abraham was named for a great-uncle on my father's side, who was killed in Poland during the Shoah. Another great-uncle, Yehuda, who escaped from the Nazis, eventually settled in Australia and wrote a memoir. Here is an excerpt:

My brother Abraham, with his wife Fenia and their beautiful eight-year-old daughter Shoshana, were killed in Siedlce during the “Aktion” there on 22 August 1942 (“Aktion” served as an euphemism for liquidation). All the people had to sit in the rubble and stones at the marketplace with their heads bent down for two days and nights, without a drop of water or any food in the squalor of those very hot August days.

Suddenly, Abraham got up and vehemently warned his fellow Jews of the fate that awaited them, urging them to fight and try to escape from the German assassins. Before he could finish, a salvo from a German machine gun killed him and his family, and probably others around them too. The Germans liquidated all the ghettos in that region and deported the Jews in cattle trains to nearby Treblinka, where already in 1942 the gas chambers and the crematoria worked around the clock.

This episode was described in “Yizkor Siedlce” (Memorial to Siedlce) by an eyewitness who survived the “Aktion” and the war. May their memory live for ever!

Maternal aphasia: Week Three

Illness struck the older brother this week, a virus that would not - and still has not - quit. Each day, I hoped against hope he could go back to school, and each day he didn't seem well enough. Last night he spiked a 104 degree fever, so today I finally took him to the doctor. It is just a virus, but I've never seen one stick to him for this long. Poor little buddy. The other night I made myself cry by imagining it was brought on by his broken heart. It hasn't been easy for him to be home with me all week, resenting how much of my time his baby brother takes up. He has said some very illuminating things in recent days, by way of expressing his feelings about Abe. One that sticks out in my mind is one he said in a whisper, then repeated out loud when I asked: "He can't live here." Why? I asked. "Because he doesn't know how to SLEEP." I'm amazed at his capacity for expression, even when what he expresses isn't exactly on the mark... His teacher called our home phone while we were out at the doctor today, and all the kids left a message saying they missed him and hoped he'd feel better soon. Reason #1003 why I love his school.

Baby Abey is on the receiving end of my overzealous dosages of fenugreek to boost my milk supply. For a couple of days at the beginning of the week, I was taking 12 610 mg capsules per day. I woke up Wednesday morning smelling like an Indian restaurant, and realized finally that Abe's frothy, bright chlorophyll-green poops were caused not by the minuscule amounts of formula I'd used to supplement for a couple of days, but in fact by an excess of that milk-producing herb. I have cut way, way back on the fenugreek, but his poops are still quite green. I'm hoping they switch back to the standard-issue butterscotch soon. He's been way gassy because of it, too. Bad mama. Also, having Jonah home all week has meant zero stimulation of Abe's baby senses, aside from the occasional colloquium while he's digesting. Looking forward to getting back to his "education" next week when we have some Jonah-free hours...

This week, I really wanted my mom here. Even with the horrendous conflicts we always seem to get into when she is here. She told me when I was pregnant that when I had another kid I would want to have her around, and she isn't wrong. It sure would be nice. But then I walk outside and run into people I know & like and feel that this is home. Living near my family, but in the suburbs, would not have the same feeling.

Maternal aphasia: Week Two

We got through the first week. The bleary eyes, the excess of house guests. The bris during a blizzard, still surprisingly well-attended. The second week = settling in. Stability. Reality. Some whopping good tantrums by older brother, usually at the same time (late afternoon), always with the same root causes (sleepiness, displacement). Wild hormonal swings of mama, but nothing requiring medication.

Right now it's quiet in the house - Jonah just left for a playdate at a friend's house - and Abe is sleeping in his fleecy lamb suit that's been on since we got back from our early morning doctor visit (he's as slow of a gainer as his brother was, causing me much angst but luckily not as much as last time around). And it's a sunny, warm day. And I am full of gratitude. I believe I got some sleep last night (always hard to say for sure). I've had some coffee. And I want to thank:

Josh - for being the partner in parenting that I wish every mom had. He does so much, and then finds a way to do more.

My friend Sara - who may read this eventually. Sara, you called at the precise moment I needed you to yesterday. Thank you for letting me vent. Thank you for reassuring me it will all be OK. I actually believe it will.

People who do good - and more specifically, in our case, the many parents at Jonah's school who know what we are going through and who have organized to bring us dinners. What an amazing community we've fallen into. I can't wait until my turn comes to reciprocate.

If I'm being totally honest here, I should probably thank myself too. Jonah's difficulty gaining weight when he was born was made all the more difficult by the fact that I shared our predicament with our families, which led to numerous daily phone calls to find out how he was doing, whether he was eating enough, and a downward spiral of advice-dispensing that left me really confused and vulnerable. As soon as I saw that we'd be dealing with the same thing this time around, I asked Josh to not discuss it, and as difficult as it is for me, I haven't discussed it with my parents either. I am reaping the reward now - a chance to help Abe get back to his birth weight without a Greek chorus of voices second-guessing everything I'm doing.

Maternal aphasia: Week One

Indeed, things got going. For real. Except instead of a labor of three hours or less, I was in labor for a full 11 hours, and complained about how long it took. (Which is a bold move, complaining, when your own midwife labored for 60 hours to have her daughter, not 6 months ago.)

Since time is tight and I've already typed up the birth story for another online venue, I'll share it here instead:

I'm pleased as punch to announce the arrival of Abraham Zev, on 2/18/10 at 5 a.m. He weighed 9 lbs 7 oz, measured 21.7 inches, and had a head circumference that was, according to the nurse, "off the charts." Contrary to what my body led me to expect with my quick first delivery, this labor took 11 hours of hospital time. Which goes to show, you can never really tell!

Thanks to early discharge from the hospital birthing center, I was able to birth a baby in the morning and be home in time to sing his big brother a lullaby that night, which was pretty amazing.

Jonah's birth was labeled "precipitous" since I got to 8cm dilation without feeling any contractions, went to the hospital to have my water broken, and had him 3 hours after that. So when I switched to a midwife practice early in this pregnancy, they were very concerned about my first labor and sure that I wouldn't make it to any hospital.

So this time, as I got to 37 weeks, and then 38, and 39, I was sure I was a ticking baby time bomb (and it didn't help that I had two due dates, 4 days apart). I was mystified that things were not quite going as they had before. At 39 weeks I was a couple cm dilated, not completely effaced. I wasn't feeling any contractions, just occasional painful twinges in my cervix. When I showed up for my 40 week appointment, the day before my due date, I was 3cm. And PISSED at my body for not doing what it had last time. The midwife checked me with evening primrose oil, and asked me to hang around the office and call in later. I knew I'd have a few contractions from the internal exam, since that happened the first time around. But we hung out, and nothing was happening except our need to get back in time to pick up Jonah from school, so we came back to Brooklyn.

When I called in later in the afternoon (after trying to take a nap during a playdate with a very loud & contentious little pal of Jonah's), the midwife on call suggested that I come in to the birthing center that evening and see if she could start some midwifery induction procedures. I was anxious to get things going before it became an emergency, because of all of the logistics of Jonah care, so I said yes, thinking we could go in at 8:30, after Jonah was in bed. Instead, it turned out we needed to be there as soon as possible, and definitely before 7:30, because the birthing center nurse on duty was leaving then, the next one on the schedule was out sick, and if I were not there & in labor (or on the way to it) by 7:30, they'd send me to the regular L&D and I'd miss out on the birthing center. So my in-laws showed up to take care of Jonah overnight, we scrambled around (luckily our hospital bag had been packed for a week) and managed to get to the hospital by 6.

We had found a parking lot coupon on the web that promised $20 for 24 hours (which is great for NYC), only to find that it was an outdoor lot, still largely covered with slushy, icy puddles from our recent snow. We decided to deal with it for the savings, and then had to walk a very steep uphill block to the hospital. Good thing I wasn't yet in active labor!

The midwife (who also happens to live on our block in Brooklyn) met us at the birthing center along with the nurse. The rooms there are decorated in a tacky floral B&B style, but the lights were nice and dim and it felt so luxurious to think we'd get to spend some hours there, alone (when Jonah was born, both sets of grandparents were hovering around in the hallway right outside the room!). I was hooked up to the monitor for a bit, and ate a PB&J sandwich. We had brought other snacks from home (juice boxes, Gatorade, raisins and almonds, unfortunately forgot the cookies) but as it turned out, not nearly enough to cover 11 hours of labor.

Then the midwife checked me, again with evening primrose oil. I was 5cm. This is when I realized we might actually get to leave the hospital with a baby.

After they took the monitor off, it was time for an enema. This time I was relieved not to have to hold it in for a full 5 minutes (as I had last time). I wasn't at all sure how to get from the bed (where it was administered) to the bathroom, but somehow managed without making a mess.

Once that was overwith, we ordered dinner from the Greek restaurant across the street, because I remembered the food fondly from last time. I had a spanakopita and a small salad. (Yes, I would see them again later.) It felt very weird to just be sitting around eating takeout food in the room where we'd be having a baby later on. But weird in the best way.

The midwife prepared some black and blue cohosh for me to drink. I think I had about 5 doses in all, maybe 20-30 minutes apart. I could see why people are generally advised against doing this at home, as I could feel contractions start almost immediately after each dose. We started doing a lot of walking too, mostly in the stairwell. It was abandoned and we were close to the roof and could hear the wind whistling up there. It was pretty surreal. We circled the hallways of the hospital, which were more and more quiet as the night wore on.

At this point the contractions were ramping up and I needed to stop walking and deal with them. I would bend over, leaning on a railing, and found myself singing very low notes to get through. The midwife commented that I was doing a good job of keeping the rest of my body relaxed. I guess the contractions were not all that intense yet...

The next time I was checked, I was 7cm! I asked to go in the jacuzzi tub, which was (other than early discharge from the hospital), the principal reason I'd wanted to have a baby at the birthing center. The water felt great, but unfortunately, I had to turn the jets off after just a few minutes - they were very loud and distracting. I was in the tub probably no longer than 20 minutes - my skin started getting pruney and I guess I was starting to feel restless as well. On the next check I was at 8cm! We did some more walking, which was getting tougher (on our next trip up the stairs I remarked that I felt like the Kim Novak character in Vertigo: "It's time to climb the tower, Madeline!"). During one contraction I hummed the lullaby that I usually sing to Jonah, and it made me miss him so much I cried. I then realized how freaking exhausted I was.

When we got back to the room we decided it was time to break my water. The bedside table conveniently housed an amni-hook. I felt a slight gush, followed by lots of trickles, and the contractions that followed really started kicking my ass. After maybe half an hour, I started feeling pressure on my butt and starting thinking it might be time to push. The midwife reached in to check and found the head "right there" (though it had been right there all evening - at one point she was tickling the baby's ears).

I heard the midwife say "OK, she's fully, bring in the table." I stopped making a lot of sense at that point. I was using a wedge on the bed to push on all fours, but it sucked having it in the way between contractions. There was no way to get comfortable. I was still wearing the tank top from my needlessly fancy pajamas, and it was so hot in the room I ripped it off, prompting the midwife to say, "NOW we're getting somewhere." I begged Josh to cut off my hair, because the elastic I'd brought was not keeping it out of my face. And I said more than once that I wanted out of my body, to which the midwife replied that I really needed to stay IN my body at that particular moment.

Pushing, which I'm told lasted 30 minutes total, was excruciating. After all my careful breathing and relaxation I could not seem to isolate the muscles I needed to bear down. The pushes kept escaping through my throat as screams. I finally stopped vocalizing but then found my eyes were pushing instead. The head popped in and out a few times. It was so frustrating! The ring of fire stung me as the head came out, and the midwife told me the next push would deliver the baby. As I had when I was giving birth to Jonah, I looked over to Josh at that moment, and the look of joy and excitement on his face gave me the energy to finish the job. I felt every inch of the baby slip out, and learned we'd had a baby boy.

The immediate postpartum was also excruciating, unfortunately. We had a respite while waiting for the blood to pulse out from the cord, and for the placenta to come out. But then I needed a pitocin shot in my leg, due to some excess bleeding. And then I needed stitches in two places - where I had torn last time around (which looked to the midwife like an episiotomy scar, but it was a natural tear) and then another by the urethra. That last one was the worst to deal with - I had to get a catheter inserted while the stitches went in, and it felt like the stitches were going directly through my clitoris. I made a mental promise at that moment not to have any more kids. The midwife was amazing though - what hard work they do. After she was done she took the time not only to show us the placenta while she examined it, but also to explain the function of each part of it.

We spent the rest of the day in a haze of phone calls, emails, and attempts to nap. The baby was examined by a pediatrician who immediately noticed his tongue-tie, which caused some feeding issues, but after a frenotomy at 4 days old, he seems to be doing great.

We drove home through a miraculously traffic-free rush hour Manhattan (the baby riding unaccompanied in back, by way of getting him used to being a second child), and pulled up to our building to see Jonah and all his grandparents frantically waving from the window upstairs. It was a hell of a day.

Gestational logorrhea: 3cm and going in

At today's checkup I was 3 cm dilated. That's progress of 1 measly cm from last week. Which I'm sure would be fine for some, but I was much further along last time at this point. Still, the baby is pretty low - in fact the midwife felt the head when she did my internal exam, and I felt the baby recoil when she touched it. Some natural induction techniques were applied (membrane sweep, evening primrose oil) and I've had a few contractions this afternoon. After talking with the midwife this afternoon, we've decided to go to the birthing center this evening to see if things can get going for real. I'm looking forward to getting to use the facilities there (jacuzzi tub, king size bed to loll & labor in) and very much looking forward to meeting this kid at last. Wish me luck, phantom readers.

Gestational logorrhea: So close, yet so far

I don't think I can stand the TV on. We rarely if ever have it on, but tonight Josh wanted to watch some Olympics action. And we saw a preview for this Thursday's episode of The Office. Which is the only show we watch. Pam is scheduled to have her baby Thurs night. And my second official due date is Thursday. I have got to have this baby before someone on TV has hers. Got that, baby?

Also I need to have this baby before I sustain any other injuries. I have a chemical burn on top of my left foot from some misplaced "callus eliminator" that the woman used while giving me a pedicure on Saturday. Sunday night, I gashed my right middle finger with the food processor blade. Clearly, I need to lie low and stay away from sharp objects and beauty rituals. Which means I should probably be treating myself like a newborn baby. Milk, burp, and nap.

Gestational logorrhea: The edge of sanity

Jonah looked at me this afternoon and said, "Tomorrow will be a very hard day for you." He was quoting from a favorite book. But I'm hoping it was prophetic. I can't walk around this pregnant for much longer. It's ridiculous. After dinner tonight I'm eating a half of a pineapple.

Gestational logorrhea: The false alarm zone

First false alarm, last night. My first official due date isn't until Sunday, but I had a checkup yesterday and the internal exam revealed I'm still about 2cm, not any more than that, and maybe only 50% effaced, not completely as I'd been led to believe last week. But sitting at the computer around 10 pm I started feeling the baby move, burrowing down a little (the head is right on the cervix), and had an all-over tightening of my belly which signals a contraction (false or real). With Jonah, every time I had an internal exam I would then have a false labor alarm later in the day. Seems like that's what happened this time, too. After maneuvering myself into a lukewarm bath, and sending Josh to dig out the car from under the snow and install the baby's car seat, everything had gone back to normal, and I slept a great, long night. Of course, I wish we hadn't called our neighbors with the false alarm, as they've been nice enough to offer to sleep over here if things get started in the middle of the night. They were very understanding when I called back.

It's terrifying, not being able to trust my body to give me the right signs. Yesterday at the checkup, I was hooked up to the fetal monitor and realized that I couldn't always tell when the baby was moving unless I looked at my belly. Some of the movements I could not detect without looking. I feel like my belly is anesthetized, somehow, and I worry this is going to make me wind up with an emergency home birth.

I need this baby to come soon, for everyone's sake. Poor Jonah is getting tired of talking about the baby in theory - he wants a real one to contend with. I don't blame him.

Gestational logorrhea: Where's the freakin' baby?!

It has dropped. It's "locking and loading" in my pelvis. Somehow I'm still sleeping all night, which is kind of remarkable considering how compressed my bladder must be. I wake up dehydrated when little feet patter in from the next room. Jonah wakes between 6 and 6:30 regardless of when he's gone to bed, comes in to our room and rests his head on the bed, waiting to be petted like a pup. This morning I hoisted him up on the bed and he started whimpering - that wasn't part of the plan! The plan is he says good morning, then runs into the living room and starts calling for Daddy. He has figured out how the new dimmer switches work, so at least he's not playing in the dark now.

Each time I drive Jonah to his physical or occupational therapy appointment, I think it will be the last time before the baby comes. How wrong I am. The baby dropping has made parking the car a little bit easier, I've noticed. Yesterday I took Jonah on an outing to two favorite places - the car wash (I sprung for an interior vacuum, and the guys found this awesome digger truck that I had never seen before, apparently lost under the seats), and Fairway, where we got sweets and then watched the Statue of Liberty and the ferries from the pier until we were freezing. Then we went in and chatted with the fish guys. It made me feel so normal. It made Jonah feel so normal. It was nice to have that feeling, briefly, before everything goes to hell. I mean, before the baby comes. Baby, I don't mean you're going to make our lives hell. But you are.

I am so tired of people saying to me, "You're STILL here?" I'm tired of being asked how I feel. You really want to know? It's getting impossible to find a position to stand in when I shower that doesn't make me double over with hip pain. I'm gassy beyond belief. This morning after sitting on the floor helping Jonah with a jigsaw puzzle for 10 minutes I was seething with impatience and rage, and finally realized how uncomfortable it was to sit on the floor. Then I needed Josh's help to stand up. (Now, aren't you glad you asked?)

Gestational logorrhea, 1-2 cm dilation

38 weeks, 1-2cm dilated, cervix is "paper thin" (which upon Googling I discovered means "100% effaced"). I haven't yet had any contractions, not the walloping kind I remember from my very quick active labor last time. I do get tight feelings across my belly, and I suppose I'm supposed to register those as something, and I do feel the baby moving a lot, but it doesn't quite feel like the burrowing down that happened last time. Again I find myself in the position of not being able to trust my body. Except perhaps I can trust my intuition, because before my internal exam yesterday I had thought I was probably dilated 1-2cm. Indeed I was.

Mom will not need surgery on her hand after all - just a removable cast for 3 weeks. Thank GOD. This means that if she comes up when the baby arrives, with my dad, the two of them combined will actually be helpful. At least that is how I am idealizing it...

Now that I know I'm a ticking time bomb everything I need to do while Josh is away at work fills me with dread. What if I suddenly go into active labor as I'm picking Jonah up from school? Or in the car on the way to his OT appointment? I guess that's why I've got my chart in an envelope to tote around.

The City of New York needs to be notified about the impending birth - just got called for jury duty, two days after my due date. Nice juxtaposition of the primal/natural with the official, worthy of a nonfiction novel. Last time, that juxtaposition came in the form of a letter from the insurance company which we received a few days after Jonah was born. They were kindly letting us know that they had authorized a vaginal birth. How smart of them, as that is just what we had. I've saved that for Jonah's scrapbook (if I ever get around to putting it together).

Gestational logorrhea, 37.5 weeks

Oh, hello. Yes, I am still pregnant. Yes, I am late with this week's installment of navel-gazing. I've got an excuse, and it's spelled M-O-M.

My mother cleared her normally-busy schedule to come up to visit from Monday to Saturday this week. During this time, I was supposed to relax and revel in meals cooked by her, and let her take care of Jonah in the afternoons so I could rest. She got here Monday afternoon; I think I managed to take a nap then. Monday evening we had leftovers since she'd just gotten to town and we didn't feel we could put her to work so soon. Tuesday afternoon, we took Jonah to the library after school, and he fell asleep on the way home so we made a second visit to the cafe we'd been to in the morning.

Wednesday afternoon, we went to same cafe after school, Jonah had a cookie, and then I left them to stroll around the neighborhood and visit the pet food store to say hi to the cats. On the way home, Jonah and my mom were playing hide and seek, and she stumbled on uneven pavement. I'd just taken my contact lenses out to get ready for a nap when I heard them come in and Josh say that she'd fallen down.

My mom doesn't know how to "just" fall down. Seven years ago we were traveling together in Italy. She tripped on a doormat in Padova, hurt her ankle, and by the time she came home it was a partially torn Achilles tendon. She was in a cast at our wedding, and couldn't dance.

This time, she was bleeding heavily from both hands and knees. I hauled out our first aid supplies and spent about 40 minutes cleaning her up. Then her right hand started swelling. My in-laws were due to come for dinner, so I had to make it while Josh (who was home, luckily) took Jonah to his occupational therapy session. After I'd finished prepping dinner, we went out to find a cab to take us to the ER. Hailing a cab on the street anywhere but Manhattan is a very challenging prospect, even when you aren't almost 9 months pregnant and look as though you might be thinking of delivering in a taxi. We finally found a cab, got to the ER, and once my mom had gone through triage I ducked out, since I had no idea what type of germs I might get exposed to in the waiting room. I walked home, too stubborn to try to get a cab, and half-blind because I'd never put my contacts back in. I started getting shooting pains in my pelvis after walking for ten minutes (about halfway back home).

Turned out she'd broken a bone in her hand, and it may require surgery. She came back with her arm in a cast and a sling and many bandages on her other wounds. So, Weds through Saturday were spent caring for her cuts and scrapes, helping her dress, and soothing her bruised ego. I somehow managed to get through this without offending her, even though I was so resentful to have to deal with this setback, at this particular moment.

I decided in a more lucid moment that the universe was trying to teach me a lesson, that I need to re-learn how to care for someone who is truly helpless. Not a moment too soon for that lesson, I reckon. I need to really embrace that this is what happened, though, and stop feeling bitter about the week that was. In time, I guess. Now, I am starting to realize that my mom's injury is going to keep her from helping out once the baby is here, and keep her from holding the baby as I know she'll want to, and I'm just getting sad about it all. Aside from the fact that she probably won't be able to drive or cook for a while, two things that are central to her lifestyle. What lesson exactly is she supposed to take from this?

On the baby front, things are still chugging along. This week was the first appointment where I was hooked up to the fetal heart rate monitor for a longer period of time, and the resulting tracing was very reassuring. What is not reassuring is the fact that we have done so little to prepare, we have no idea when to expect this baby, and uh, have I mentioned the lack of preparations? I'm trying to think of napping and eating as the most important things I could be doing right now.