Hey y’all…I’ve moved to a self-hosted blog. Come visit me at Guitar Picks and Apron Strings. xoxox – ruby
Yeah, yeah…so I’ve fallen down on the blogging. It’s not easy to balance a laptop on a nursing newborn you know. And before I incur the Wrath of the Interwebs, I clearly mean “with” not “on.”
So, until I get back to the computer, let me leave you with a couple of things. First, here is a very awesome blog written by one of my very awesome and bestest friends. Check it out.
And second some food pron for you to gaze upon:
Here we are. In that first few months with a new baby, when every waking moment (and almost all of them are waking) is an out-of-body experience and the house gets wrapped in a slipcover of prefolds, teeny t-shirts, socks, and blankets. And the washing machine is going nonstop yet all of your clothes still have spit-up or worse on them. And by “clothes” I mean the sweatpants with the paint on the ass and the Reverend tshirt you stole from your better half, because — let’s face it — nothing else fits and you’re sure as hell not going to wear maternity clothes.
But we’ve made it. It’s been almost 2 months and I think we’re finally getting the swing of life with 3 kids.
Oz is a sweet thing who loves sleeping, eating, and peeing all over hapless bystanders. While he definitely owns some crankypants and doesn’t like to be put down, I think it is safe to say he is colic-free (unlike certain other children I have made).
He gets a big crabby/marathon nursing session going in the evening that usually lasts until “bedtime.” And when I write “bedtime,” I mean the time at which my dear and lovely husband takes Oz for a drive so I can get a little baby-free real sleep. In a bed.
No, the baby isn’t sleeping through the night yet. At this point, no one in our house is sleeping through the night. K is plagued with allergies and growing pains (I’m not allowed to mention puberty. Nor the fact that he listens to his iPod at night and I have been awakened by his headphonesdeaf singing of the Shins and FoTC many, many times). Lu falls out of the bed due to the fact that she sleeps with no fewer than 36 “babies” and 536 books.
Oz will get at least one good 4 hour stretch in there, but he needs to eat — baby cheeks don’t enchubby themselves, you know. Until tonight, Mr. Hussy has been on Oz-watch from their male-bonding/Intro to Rock 101 drivetimes until the first waking. And then I take over on feeder alert until the birds, our next-door neighbor, and the sunlight return.
So yeah. Sleep? No. Not so much.
But tonight marks the beginning of a new era. Tonight, all 5 of us are tucked in our beds or at least
a bed. Well, we’re all in bedrooms, anyway. And most appear to be sleeping — I hear snoring (Mr. Hussy) and banging (Lu kicking books out of her bed) and the little goat sounds Oz makes when sort-of sleeping. K, however, is singing (DCFC, I believe).
But — and this is the important part — no one is crying.
And that’s *better* than sleep.
Quote of the Day: (Luli) “Don’t turn that off — you know it’s my favorite.”
…and a great big welcome to our newest creation, the Wee Baby Ozzy:
It was a long and weird week, but we’re both doing fabulously. Obvs I’m going to be blogging sporadically for a bit, but will share some of the the hilarity of hospitalized shenanigoats when I return. Take care and don’t forget to hug a mother-like person today…xoxox – sdh
It’s been a morning of dealing with clients via phone. I am not thrilled about this. I have a settlement that is taking WAY too long to get ironed out, opposing counsel who cannot return a phone call inside of 3 weeks, and a client who is batshit angry/crazy. Note, these are 3 different cases. And while I usually enjoy insane, shouty, hysterical voicemails over a mandatory HIPAA release that are left at 8:15 a.m. on my cell phone, I find little joy in them right now. Between the lack of sleep, the fact that this bullshit should have been done months ago, and the GIANT FETUS doing the running man in my uterus, you could say I’ve lost my sense of humor.
So in the meantime, I’m going to try to peace out and think about getting my shit together and packing a hospital bag for myself. Which, having been through this twice already, I can say is an exercise in futility and timewastery. The only things you REALLY need to bring? Lip balm and thick socks. If you’re feeling organizey, toss in a razor and one of those scrubby mesh thingies and some GOOD body lotion. Also some big sweats you never want to see again, a large zip up hoodie, and whatever low-cut maternity tshirt you hate the least. If you are the connected type, make sure to bring your various chargers. Batteries. And more socks.
And other, say, non-maternity clothes? Yeah….no. I remember that I brought my favorite hippie shirt and cut-off jeans to the hospital with me when I went in to have K. Seriously? What the fuck was I thinking? I ended up wearing the same outfit home that I wore coming in. With Luli, I brought some nice new large pjs — which yes, they fit, but did I really want to wear them post-childbirth and ruin them forever? No.
If you want to get something special to wear in the hospital while you lounge in soft-lit, halcyon maternal bliss, seriously, buy a nice LARGE tank top and a nice soft LARGE zip-up hoodie or cardigan type thingy. Because really? Everything else will either not fit or will just add to the confusion. If it’s your first time, don’t screw around with nursing bras at this point. In fact, just wait with all the “nursing clothes” until you get home (I find “nursing clothes” to be utterly unnecessary; YMMV). Just wear a low-cut tank top that you can pull down. Unless you’ve done it before, the last thing you need is be floundering around trying to figure out all the hidden snaps and flaps while strangers, family, and friends you’ve not yet met file in and out of your hospital room.
And really? The above advice focuses solely on the practical. You should bring whatever you want. It’s damn near impossible to predict how you will feel, emotionally and physically, post-birth. You may want comfort things; you may just want to get the hell out of there. Pack in some candy. Some books. Some pictures. A little tasteful porn. Whatever. Your friends will be in charge of sneaking in the tequila- and espresso-filled chocolates.
So really, just bring whatever the hell you want. I’m going to go pack a back of socks.
Yeah. No baby yet. It’s all good, though.
Last weekend, out of boredom and irritation, I decided that I absolutely could not stand to spend another second in maternity clothes. They are scratchy and, like most things, not designed with my body in mind. Last pregnancy, I had court appearances up until the day before I went into the hospital (and five weeks after). So I spent most of my time in “business breeder” gear. I refused to wear a maternity suit, though. I have standards. But this time I had very few “lawyer” appearances while giantly pregnant. So, I packed up 98% of the Traveling Maternity Box of Goodness and Delight and will be sending it onward to the next lucky preggo recipient. In doing so, I found The Pants. The Magical Maternity Pants, that I think are actually pajama bottoms. Does that stop me from wearing them ’til they are covered in chocolate and almond milk? No. I shall wear them FOREVER.
I’ve kept a couple of things out, but really my go-to pregnancy uniform these days is one of several stretched-out scoop-neck t-shirts, a cardigan, and one of a stack of yoga-waist skirts I got from Old Navy many years ago and The Pants. At night I slip into my $5 velour yoga pants and whatever of my husband’s t-shirts looks the cleanest. None of these items are maternity. Which means that all of them are soft, reasonably well-made, and not some tacky shade of puce. None of them really fit either, but I figure if I can get most of my bits covered, I’m fine to go out in public.
And while last week I was a bit ragey and determined to be unpregnant; this week? I’ve reached a zen place with it all. After being head down and moving for weeks, the wee fetus Ozzy decided to get all transverse on me. Which, by the way, feels really awesome. And when I say ‘awesome,’ I mean pointy and gross. But on the happytimes side, there was cobbler AND I could eat it without getting sick.
And I did this for one glorious, quiet hour:
Note that I am wearing The Pants.
Going out in public these days mainly consists of going to the doctorbs. The “B” is for “bwhen am I going to have this baby?” Apparently no one has any clue. The good news is the perinatologist has now downgraded Ozzy from GIANTMONSTERBABY to large-ish but still reasonably sized baby. Ozzy measured 6 lbs, 14 oz yesterday. Which, while still bigger than either of my other two at delivery, is not terrifying. Anyhow, both docs were all ‘whatever’ as in I could have this baby tomorrow, or anytime over the next 4 weeks.
In the meantime, I think I will head back to the hammock…