Mama Said...

Days like yesterday... Mama said there'd be ones like it. Storey cried anytime my thumb or my boob wasn't in her mouth. And there was no napping, for either of us, other than the one she took in the sling when I walked up to the gallery and back to drop off some more prints to Linda. By the time Jason got home I was fried and so was our girl. It's almost like, in order to maintain patience and calm, I have to go comatose, numbing myself to the fact that my day has, for the most part, sucked.

But then, there's my husband, who took her as soon as he got home and put her miraculously asleep (after she filled her diaper in his honor). Then towards the wee hours of the morning he stayed up with her again and let me get some much needed sleep before we started another day together. And he woke me with a hug and let me take a shower, before his. A long, unhurried shower. It was pure bliss. And he made us eggs for breakfast.

I can't explain how much this means to me. I think it helps the girl too, because unlike yesterday, today Storey is already napping. Who knows. Maybe she was constipated or growing or just too damn sweaty for a Tuesday and it threw everything off. But it rained last night, it's nice and cool, she's had a bath and all seems to be right again with the universe.

It's funny how someone so small can impact your whole existence on a daily basis. I wonder how many people-to-be-parents realize just how much life becomes nothing about you once you have a kid. I'm sure my Mama said that too at some point.

Smelly Belly Buttons

Yesterday, when I opened Storey's onsie to change her diaper, her cord tumbled out.

Grody.

I stood there and stared at it. The last of what tethered us together while she was inside of me. I can remember raising my head when Dr. Mikol twisted her body out of me and seeing the thick, opalescent blue rope running from her belly, still connected, still pulsing, even though she was breathing air. In that moment we were giving her everything we had to offer, from inside and out. Then Jason cut the cord and she was out, here with us, for good.

So, on her eighth day, what was left of it, left her. It was smellin' pretty funky anyways. I told her now she can wear a two-piece without shame.

And then we read a book to commemorate the occasion.


How often as adults do we remember the origins of our own belly buttons, and the connection that once was there?

It left me inspired to call my Mom. Just to say hi.

She's A Maniac

Friends give the best presents.

Flashdancing down the runway, Storey's sporting a rockin' Max & Grace onsie crafted by Mike, Danielle and Sam, the leggings are made by Mama (me) and the Mary Jane socks are courtesy of Walter, Judy, Lila and Iris.


What a feeeeeling.
Bein's believin'.
I can have it all, now I'm dancing for my life.
Take your passion
And make it happen.
Pictures come alive, now I'm dancing through my life.
What a feeeeeeling!

Working Man

Both of us had noticed a rash of inequities during my pregnancy regarding social assumptions about the father's role in this whole baby thing. People regularly asked me how I was feeling, or whether I was excited, anxious, etc. about what was coming. Rarely did anyone outside of our circle of, I guess, a few enlightened friends and family ask Jason how he felt, as his own fatherhood approached. Is it really that embedded in our culture that fathers will take or are expected to take a less passionate, less involved, secondary role in parenting? If so, that's unfortunate.

This phenomenon probably irked Jason only because, conversely, impending fatherhood has mattered so much to him. He's so committed to being a tremendous part of her life. I'll be pumping my breast milk, not because I need a break or want to "hand off" something to him, but because he wants to feed her at night, bond with her. He has spent months collecting things for us to enjoy as a family. Our i-pod is full of all the music he's excited to share with her. I think I even saw Storey-love in his eyes while she was screaming bloody murder, flailing her feet into a very tarry diaper during a recent change.


And tomorrow, well, he has to go back to work. We talk about it. It's very sad. For both of us. It makes me motivated to heal faster so that ideally nothing at home (meals, laundry, groceries, etc.) is waiting for him when he gets home. Not because that's what moms or housewives are supposed to do. Not because I'll have lots of "time on my hands" during the day. Yeah, both of these ideas can rot in the same cultural crap bucket as "fathers are 2nd-tier on the parent pyramid" as far as I'm concerned. Rather, if his heart has to break every morning upon leaving, it should have the opportunity to mend every night when he comes home, as he spends time with her, with us.

Pretty Babies

I'd be honest if Storey didn't fall into the pretty baby category. But she most definitely does. We can't stop looking at her. It's amazing how each day that passes there's this sense that the three of us are bonded closer and closer together. I've never experienced anything like it. Jason teases me about the concern I had that having a child might sacrifice the closeness we already enjoyed between us. The house is quiet. We take turns holding and soothing her. Enjoying her. This week has been incredible.

Coming Home

Squeezing out a very big kid, with no meds, over a period of about 15 hours, with the last hour's worth involving the ring of fire... yeah, that all leaves a battlefield in its wake. I'm fairly sure that most postpartum women share some set of physical woes. Well, one of mine is incontinence. I can't tell when I'll pee, nor can I stop or start it. I'm telling you, it's a wreck down there...

So, we come home and Jason transforms our downstairs into a homecare-baby-mama-papa-uber- living-space while I feed Storey and "wait to pee" (right... little did I know.)

Finally, I hand off the kid and walk into the bathroom to go and along with every possible thing a gal could need to heal her bottom, this is what I see:



witch hazel, a lit candle and a flower. I start to sob. Jason...

He comes to see what's wrong and that's the lovely moment when I start to pee. All over the just-cleaned-floor, in the just-made-perfect bathroom. Wetting oneself completely in front of the one you love. There's nothing finer.

Papa

I've always suspected that Jason would make a great father, because of the kind of husband he is. In fact, one of the reasons why our Storey didn't start till now was because I wanted to be just "We" and enjoy him all to myself.

All through the pregnancy, he was supportive, understanding, involved. Ask Jason about anything pregnancy related and it's likely he'll have read a book or article, subscribed to a mailing list, polled our child-weathered friends, etc. already about it and could offer up an amazingly rounded, informed perspective.

He cared for me and cried at my pain during labor. Though I had thought it better that he never see what happened to my body during birth, instead he sat right next to Dr. Mikol at the end of the bed, telling me over and over that I was strong and that I could bring our daughter into the world. He was right.

He is awake with me throughout the night, and cared for us non-stop every day of this week. I've seen him weep more in the past 4 days than in our 5 years together. He loves her so much. He loved her from the moment we found out we weren't going to be just We anymore. It makes me love him even more - if that were at all possible.

Thank you Jason.

On The Day She Was Born

Sunday, 9/9/07
10:00 - 11:00 pm
Watching Planet Earth, sill counting contractions, in bed. It's a party compared to what's to come.

Monday, 9/10/07
11:00 pm - 2:00 am
3 more hours of early labor. Contractions getting stronger, in fact, they just plain hurt, birthing ball not cutting it upstairs, so I start laboring in a hot bath. Much better. Contractions are at 1 every 4 minutes, well within range for going to the hospital but I still want to hang out at home for as long as possible.

Monday, 9/10/07
2:00 - 2:30 am
Calling the doc, running around, grabbing bags, shoes, cell phones. Contractions are 2 + minutes apart (holy crap!). Good thing we only live 3 blocks from the hospital. We're admitted and get our room. I am 3 cm dilated. Only 7 more to go.

Monday, 9/10/07
9:00 am
We've breathed our way through 6.5 more hours of early labor. I remember thinking, "the pain can not get much worse than this." Ha. The doc comes in and says, contractions are good, but I've not dilated much further. This sucks. She offers to break my water, and we decide sure.

Monday, 9/10/07
12:00 pm
Active labor. Holy, holy crap. This is pain. The contractions are blinding. Jason and our nurse, Andrea, breathe through them with me, one at a time. They are incredible. I begin to doubt that I can do this with no meds.

Monday, 9/10/07
1:15 pm
I'm stuck at 7- 8 cm. She's stuck. They turn me on my side.
I push and the doc guides her past the last bit of cervix. The doc, Sharon Mikol, is amazing. Let's just say I picked the right lady way back when. In many other realities, my delivery could have likely become fraught with intervention and/or a c-section (our baby ended up being 9lbs, 3 oz of it and 21 inches. That's a BIG baby.). Dr. Mikol knew all the tricks and never once suggested anything outside of my initial wishes. She stuck to my guns... for me. No drugs.

Monday, 9/10/07
1:35 pm
"We see her head! We see hair! It's long, and there's lots of it! She's almost here. Push!" they say. "Almost". That's a relative term, depending on who's perspective is king.

I will say this about this part of delivering a baby: It's an experience that either can't be described with words or people just don't talk about it afterwards. I have a very high tolerance for pain, so the contractions, I managed. But, what I did not anticipate, was the anti-intuitive yet required act of causing myself pain (pushing = pain) a number if times over in order to get her out. I thought it would never come to an end. But it did.

Monday, 9/10/07
2:49 pm
More than an hour later, with much yelling, tears and exhaustion, we witness the real beginning of our Storey. Storey Rain Williams.

Spinning Babies

Sunday nights are hard. We spend the weekend together, hoping for the Bean to arrive. And then she doesn't. And Jason has to go back in to work and hear "oh, you're here, she didn't have the baby?" 10,000 times over. Then he calls me - one time for every time he hears it, to see if I have anything new to report. Which I don't.

So, tonight (after researching the pig semen thing) I decided to occupy myself by looking into why I would be having all of these contractions for days and then have them repeatedly fizzle out. I found this website: http://spinningbabies.com and discovered that the Bean's position is likely not putting enough pressure on the cervix to cause it to dilate, so the contractions are all for naught.

For the last hour Jason and I have been repositioning her with me on all fours, then using The Abdominal Lift with each contraction to get her to slide backward into the right spot.

I know. We're getting pretty desperate here.

Gross-NESS!

Well, still no kid. I've been having full, intense contractions all weekend. We even had an hour's worth, 1 minute long, 5 minutes apart last night, which is when you're supposed to pack it up and head to the hospital. But something told me though that it still wasn't time - and it wasn't. The contractions fizzled into the night...kindly allowing me to get some sleep instead.

Here's why I'm extra glad we didn't go to the hospital. Had we gone, they might have witnessed the slowing down of contractions and recommended a prostaglandin insert to ripen or soften my cervix. Not only does this intervention often lead to other types of intervention but HERE'S THE GROSS PART: apparently that med. is made of pig semen.


Sorry, but that's very gross...

Big Ones

In an effort to occupy myself I finished two large paintings yesterday. I had a hard time taking them in. They're pretty fun.

Meet:
Night Owls (24 x 30")

















and
Big Crush (24 x 24")

On Being Late

Ah. The first quality apparent, handed down by myself, rather than Jason, to our lovely daughter is... tardiness. Due September 2nd and yet, she's still hanging out in there, enjoying all the ice cream I've been consuming.

So maybe she's destined for a lifetime of being late for everything, unless she's lucky enough to have someone, like her father, to move her along and get her where she needs to be on time. Unfortunately in this present case, even Jason can't do much to expedite her arrival.

So we wait. And we wait.

Elephant Money

This is so small. Should be so insignificant.
But, this morning I sold my first item on etsy.com. Elly the Elephant. Go Elly, go Elly, someone bought you, go Elly!

This distraction comes at a good time, in that I spent from 10pm till 4:30am weathering full contractions, only to wake up this morning with nothing but a sore belly. I can't express how much of a bean tease this was. I was really ready to say hello to her today, but I guess she still has some thinking to do. Maybe thoughts of woolly elephants... they are pretty intriguing.