11.26.2010

Darkness and Light

So yeah, it's been awhile. I had a baby girl that decided to overthrow my entire system of being and I've been, "out of it" for a few months. The wonderful thing is that her colic fussies ended right when she turned 2 months old. The not so great thing is that she still has major separation anxiety and won't let anyone hold her except for me and Rhys. So that means, no babysitting for us. And I've nicknamed her my "sleep diva" because she currently sacks out in our bedroom closet. We realized that she was hyper sensitive to both light and sound, so she had to be stashed somewhere very... cozy. And she has slept pretty well ever since. But she had an issue with sleeping anywhere outside of this closet, so family outings were a challenge since she naps every 2 hours. And closets aren't portable.

When I found this Day Out with Thomas the Train event many months ago, I knew we'd have to take Jude to it no matter what our home life was like. So I bought (very expensive, non refundable) tickets before I'd even given birth to Raya. Kind of a challenge to myself: Whatever life throws your way, you must get through this day. We had to go. Thomas is Jude's hero. I mean, what kind of mom would I be to keep a kid away from his hero?

This place is an hour drive into the dusty hills of Perris, CA. It's missing the old ghost town shacks but it comes stocked with the tumbleweeds and a complete lack of civilization. So we packed up the car and headed out with our very excited toddler and our non-napping, ready-to-meltdown-any-minute infant for a fun filled day of adventure. And I'm serious, Raya was an angel baby that day. Infants like to pull out tricks and really surprise you sometimes. We strolled her around in her car seat and although she didn't sleep, she didn't make a peep either. And then she SLEPT THE ENTIRE WAY HOME. Unheard of. I had to take a picture from the front seat because I couldn't actually believe it was happening. Which is why the picture is a little close and was taken at an "up the nostril" angle.
~
Since that day two weeks ago, she's been a very easy baby. She is mellow, happy and just pure joy. She even took her naps in my mom's closet yesterday for Thanksgiving so apparently any closet will do. Hopefully CPS isn't reading my blog.

Tomorrow is my 34th birthday, and I'm taking the whole day off from motherhood. Meaning, I will be getting a massage and spending my Anthropologie gift card and seeing a movie and having dinner out without any tiny people around me. And unlike the last time I did this, I already know I'm gonna miss these little guys so much. Life has settled its dust for us and we are really enjoying each other. Jude has decided that Raya isn't "yucky" anymore, and loves to hold her and rub the top of her fuzzy head. After a minute of having her weight on him he says "Get this thing off me", but he is full of love when he says it. It really is amazing what 2 months can do. We went from pure darkness to a wonderful stream of sunlight.

But despite all this daily heartwarming preciousness, this girl needs an entire day to herself.

The Day Out with Thomas took place at a train museum which lent itself to some amazing surroundings and light.









9.16.2010

Gratitude

I have been dreading this day for a while, partly because I knew I'd have to get up at 7 am after a regular night of non-sleep to be at our GI doctor appointment at 8 and mostly because I figured the news wouldn't be good. And like so many things in this strange and wonderfully unpredictable life, today turned out to be one of my best days in a long time.

Somehow we managed to drag ourselves out of bed at 7 am and be in the car with both kids by 7:20. Rhys and I deserve medals of honor for that accomplishment, and we are both our own heroes right now. Those of you with kids know just what I'm talking about. Anyway, the GI doc was an asian version of Keanu in The Matrix, really. He was profoundly perplexed at every turn of our conversation. I was thrilled to see that he was young and a good listener and had Versace glasses, though I don't know why that was of any importance. Something about a guy that can choose a gorgeous pair of prescription glasses really wins my heart. He listened to us very carefully, looked at the dirty diaper I'd stored in a ziploc baggie in the fridge, and said "I'm really happy with this poop." I was so relieved. He went on to say that Raya is in the 90th percentile for both her weight and height for this age. In other words, she's gigantic. Which means she is thriving on my breastmilk despite her continuous habit of fussing and frantic latching/unlatching. He also said that I could.... wait for it.... EAT WHATEVER THE HECK I WANT!! She has no food allergy, based on the fact that I have been killing myself on this elimination diet for over 2 weeks with no results. I told him that the appointment was well worth the $250 just for the go-ahead to eat Oreos again. He looked at me and said "$250?!?" as if he didn't know what he was charging for his office visits. Mmm hmm.

So here's the good/bad news: Raya is perfectly healthy, she just has a raging case of colic. He said to hang on, the worst is yet to come, until around 4-6 months. And I had a tiny heart attack right there, a small stroke in my chair. I had read that 50% of babies are done with colic by 2 months, and I'm holding on for dear life to that statistic. He said he wanted to give me the worst case scenario, to which I then said: "Don't." Let's just assume she's in that 50% group. Every day I wake up and say to a deceptively enchanting Raya, "Is today the last day of your colic?" and she smiles wide as if to say "Heck yes, mama. I'm done with that old trick. I'm as exhausted as you are." And I will pretend every day, every time she has an episode, every minute she's screaming, that this is the last. And one day all of a sudden, it really will be.

So I headed straight for the Nordstrom Cafe and got a mocha ice storm, a turkey & swiss croissant sandwich and a huge slice of chocolate bundt cake. That's right, the food hoarding has begun. I didn't waste any time. See how my drink is gone? That's because I drank it all before I had a chance to get home and take a picture.

Then I went to get the mail which has become my new "special time away" from home. I get my jeans on and head out past our lawn all the way to the mailbox! And today's mail... oooohhhh, today's mail.

My sweet, sweet soul sista Mandy made this amazing little hardcover book for me called "The People Who Love You." It is a compilation of all the girls on my Babycenter board that I started almost 3 years ago for girls like me who weren't immediately stuck down with pure joy at the onset of motherhood. They have become my closest friends, and I've never even met most of them in person. We talk every day about absolutely everything and they are my lifeline. This book includes pictures of all of them with little notes and jokes about each one, and how they miss me and are thinking of me during this hard time with Raya. And the last page includes a dear picture of my faithful loved ones. My husband, my little son... and Jeff Goldblum.
My other sweet, sweet soul sista Emily sent me a sunny polka dotted care package that consisted of: a gorgeous handmade wool flower headband for me, and a tiny matching one for Raya... a perfectly written note that hit every spot my heart needed, and a mix tape entitled "Crappy Days Mix." Words cannot begin to describe how much I loved everything in this box. Em, this is your thank you card. :) Thank you, thank you, thank you.


So, I decided that today is a day for a gratitude list. Here are the things that I'm currently, overwhelmingly grateful for.

My husband, who loves me so deeply and it shows in every little thing he does
*
My happy, healthy Jude and his consistent 3-hour daily naps that save my life every afternoon
*
My sister Melissa, and her thoughtful and clever view on life's tough situations
*
My mom, who's help with Jude during these hard days has been so needed
*
My Aunt Nancy, who always seems to have me in her thoughts and sends me emails that make me laugh
*
My Babycenter sisters, for everything
*
Emily and her continuous creativity and inspiration
*
My mother in law, who drives 6 hours for visits and birthdays and has a wonderful way with Jude
*
My crazy brother Daniel, who leaves messages on my voicemail like this one the other day: "Apparently when you leave a message on a cell phone, there's delivery options. Kinda like, either having a c-section, or a VBAC. Like you did. That's it."
*
My new found appreciation for the tiniest of pleasures during the very small amounts of quiet time when my baby girl is actually sleeping: a cup of tea, an episode of Mad Men, a hot bath
*
The pink Soothie pacifier that Raya now accepts on occasion
*
Nordstrom coffee and delectables
*

And despite everything she has put me through...
Raya, our pink frosting.



(And by the way missy, you're grounded until you are 15.)

9.15.2010

Shapeshifting

It's almost 10 am and I'm usually sleeping in until around 10:30 after the longest night of fitful non-sleep with my newborn. But I can't seem to fall back to sleep this morning, there are so many things swirling around in my head. Pictures to edit, places I wish I could go, people to write back, thank you cards to mail, a 3rd birthday party to plan... it's endless. Just like the daily exhaustion I feel with this new tiny human who has taken over our household in a major way. And the way the days and nights just roll right into one another and I find myself wondering what month we are even in now. Just, endless. It feels like our own twisted version of Inception, where we are stuck in a nightmare and then fall into another, deeper level of nightmare and then is it possible? Oh yes, a third and fourth dimension of nightmare. So instead of laying in bed trying to sleep, I'm going to write it all out here and maybe that will make me feel like I've accomplished something today.

It was all going wonderfully until Raya turned 3 weeks old. The first 2 weeks were surprisingly easy: she slept well, she breastfed well, Jude adjusted well... I was focused on healing and keeping the household as neat and peaceful as possible, which was a breeze. Then Rhys went back to work and Raya went crazy. She didn't seem to be interested in sleeping anywhere but on my chest, which is difficult when you have a toddler that is dying to play catch outside. Then breastfeeding changed and she started to become fussy and would choke, gag and spit out milk while she was eating. After extensive online research I realized I had an overactive letdown and oversupply of milk, which means I create a "baby beer bong" experience for my newborn where she is desperately trying to handle the amount of milk being forced at her. Which causes latching issues, which causes gas, which causes more fussiness. After a few hundred calls in to the lactation consultants I started to block feed her to regulate my milk supply which is just now, almost 5 weeks later, starting to work. But wait! Then, about a week later, a green slime debuts in her diaper which indicates a lactose or other food intolerance. After more Googling I found that an oversupply of milk can mean a foremilk/hindmilk imbalance. Since Raya can't possibly ever drain a boob fully, she never gets to the high fat hindmilk and is overloaded with the foremilk which is sugary and high in lactose and in large amounts can cause a secondary, real lactose intolerance. After two weeks of this and not seeing a change in her diapers, we went to the pediatrician. She said the green may be a hindmilk issue but the slimy indicated a food allergy of some kind and put me on an elimination diet. Which means I cannot eat dairy, soy, eggs, fish, nuts, berries, caffeine or citrus. Hello? Please find me something to eat because I'M FLIPPIN' STARVING OVER HERE. Trying to find food made without dairy or soy is impossible, people. I'm currently living on chocolate Cheerios, rice milk, spaghetti, turkey patties, chicken, bacon, hash browns, rice, watermelon and root beer. Seriously, every one of my meals includes one or more of these things. This elimination diet makes me want to eliminate someone, if you get my drift.

It has been 5 weeks of this diet and we are just now seeing a tiny bit of change in her diapers, but sadly not in her fussy, non-sleeping mood. Raya has pretty severe colic and is not a fan of sleep. She fights it all day long. For 30 or so minutes after eating, she is a smiley happy baby that loves to chat and look around. She is quite precious and adorable. Then she starts getting tired and we try endless efforts to soothe her into a nap, which usually works eventually. But then she wakes up within 10-30 minutes. The sound of her starting to stir and fuss within 15 minutes of an exhausting series of tricks to put her to sleep is depressing beyond words. (This baby hates the bouncer, the swing, the pacifier, all 3 of my infant slings, the new bassinet we tried, white noise machines, being swaddled, and car rides.) We try to soothe her back to sleep, which usually doesn't work well. Repeat 100 times during the day and then flash to 8 pm to find me crying in a bathroom because Rhys left for work 7 hours ago and I've done this alone with Jude hanging onto one leg and I just can't take it anymore. I miss my old life, I miss my husband and my charming and hilarious little man. Rhys has been sleeping on the couch for weeks, since he has to function at work every day with a bunch of kids on squeaky violins. And he needs to be able to take Jude to the park and put dishes away and cook dinner (yes, he does all of this. He is the best husband ever.) So. I'm with Raya all night long, by myself, trying to get her to eat a full meal and then sleep a nice chunk of time for me so I don't go insane and fire bomb my neighbor's house just to release some tension. I also fought off a painful plugged milk duct which made me temporarily lose my milk supply, and have been fighting off the nagging temptation to just go buy that special, really expensive baby formula and see if that "cures" her. Then maybe we'd be able to step outside of our home and actually see the light of day. But then I think, look how far we've come. Jude only breastfed for three weeks before landing us in the ER due to 24 hours of spitting up everything I made. That diagnosis? Overeating.

This truly is the hardest thing I have ever done.

But the hardest part is not knowing when it will end. Or if there is anything I can do to make her stomach feel better other than give up every comfort food I need right now to pull me through this. I need Oreos and caprese salad and sushi and cupcakes and angel hair alfredo and mocha ice storms from Nordstrom in the WORST WAY these days. But hey, some good news: I'm 5 pounds lighter than I was pre-pregancy. So when I'm off this diet, watch out world. I have dangerously ambitious gorging plans ahead. Another plus is that I do not have postpartum depression to fight this time, which would have made this hard situation completely impossible. I have what my clever ob/gyn likes to call, "situational stress."

Tomorrow we have an appointment with a pediatric GI specialist. I'm really hoping he doesn't look at her diaper and say "Yep, that's baby poop alright." Because I really need someone to give me an answer of some kind. And for the $250 bill we'll be receiving, I need something substantial to hold on to. A dozen glazed donuts, perhaps?


8.01.2010

How Carrie Got Her VBAC

I'm finally done! I tried to keep her birth story under 200 pages.
There's also a little slide show of our hospital stay.



7.19.2010

Summer

Ah, the lazy days of summer. Toddlers have it made, don't they? For once I'd like someone to push me around the mall in a stroller with a snack tray full of goodies. This post is here because I'm fooling around with my new storyboard software on Photoshop and having ridiculous amounts of fun with it.


Yep. Still pregnant.


7.14.2010

Pink Frosting

Aside from making a daughter, I've been busy crafting, photographing a stuffed monkey, organizing (and then reorganizing) and alphabetizing the entire house. The usual nesting at the end of pregnancy I guess, but to the extreme. And I started this at around 18 weeks pregnant so it has been going on for awhile. I've been putting that saying "Live today like it is your last" to good practice. Not in the, *I'm gonna die tomorrow* way... but the, *I'm going to have a newborn soon and my life will temporarily end* way. So I'm paying bills early, filling photo albums with pictures from last year, trying to catch up with life, if that is even possible. The amount of to-do lists around here is laughable: I have one for household adventures, one for last minute hospital bag packing, one for Rhys, one for what to pack in Jude's overnight bag for Grandma's house... they are everywhere. I've always loved to-do lists, especially when I make a fresh to-do list and add more projects so I can cross things off the old to-do list, just because it has been transferred to the new list. Nothing actually got done, but it was moved. Therefore it can be crossed off before it's thrown out, and somehow that is satisfying in a completely useless way. Anyone with me on that?

One of the projects that did get crossed off was Raya's birth CD, which is done. (I blacked out her middle name on the cover since it's still a secret). I made one for Jude's birth and didn't listen to it until after he was born, but still love the compilation of songs that I chose during that time in my life and how it makes me feel to revisit it. I'm hoping I can actually use this CD as intended, to help relax and distract me during labor. I will be attempting a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) this time, after finding a supportive doctor and hospital. So I may rather use this precious little CD as a ninja star throwing device, we'll see how it all works out.


So, I figured I would post a last pregnancy picture because I'm convinced I cannot get any bigger than I am now and I'm hoping this will be it for the belly pics. My friends have nicknamed me The Torpedo, I'm sure no explanation is necessary. Luckily I have my 50mm lens on so the camera is sharp and I'm a little blurry... which I think works out quite nicely in this situation. I feel like a celebrity when out in public because everyone, and I mean everyone, wants to come and ask me questions about how incredibly large I am. Is it triplets? Are they overdue by a week? How are you standing without tipping over? And my personal favorite comment: Look at how you're carrying all up front, that's a boy! And after 6 ultrasounds I can pretty much say no, it isn't. And you know why else it isn't? Because I've got more invested emotionally and financially to ever make that switch, thank you very much. What can I say, this kid better like feminine clothes and decor either way. Rhys said we can simply remove the last "a" in Raya's name that hangs above her crib, if it's a boy. Problem solved, man-style.

So here is another project crossed off my list: Jude's alphabet book. This idea came from Emily who is mentioned in nearly every blog entry of mine, because that's just how much she watercolors my life. It took two nap sessions in which I snuck in after Jude was asleep and gently removed his favorite buddy, Monkey, from his grasp. I took pictures of Monkey representing each letter of the alphabet and had a book printed from Blurb.com. Jude loves it and I'm proud to have something as a keepsake for him that captures this particular time in his life in such a unique way. It also gives Monkey a true personality, which apparently is silly with slightly sarcastic undertones.











And while I'm scrambling to get all of these details done, I am very aware that I am in no way prepared for what is to come. I am trying to control everything around me while I still have a moment, because once I have two kids I am convinced I will not know what hit me. I have a pretty substantial stash of new toys for Jude for when his little sister arrives, hoping that will distract and impress him while his life is forever shifted. And as much as I tell him "I did this for you, my sweet boy! I made you a little life companion! She'll run circles with you at the playground someday!", he has no clue that his party is about to be crashed. And this makes me sad, the fact that our life as it is will go away. BUT. The idea that very soon my whole family will be out of my body forever, and complete, feels like the pink frosting on a cake that's a little too dry. We'll just concentrate on eating the frosting. And someday, after Newborn Boot Camp is over, I'll be well-rested and rebalanced and energized enough to make a good cake again.

7.04.2010

Note to Self

You know when you read something and insantly wish you'd written it? Well this is that, for me. I found this on a blog years ago, saved it in my "Carrie's Random Stuff" file and just stumbled upon it again. The sad thing is, I have no idea who to give the credit to. I looked everywhere trying to find the guy who wrote this and I've lost him. So if he finds this, sorry guy. I wish I could have given you the wonderous credit you so deserve for this. For perfectly capturing the way I feel every time it rains. And when I remember in those tiny magical moments in the ordinary that this is what it's all about. All of it, happening right now.
Sometimes it moves pretty quick. When you don't have time to think. React. Remember days when all you had was time. Time to reflect. Now. Now is for living.


Just live.


Wake up, tie your boots on and get out in it. Smell it, feel it. Roll down the windows so you can hear it. Listen. Make some noise so you can be part of it. Put your hands in it. Deep. Pick it up and toss it around. Break it open against the ground. Flip it over.

Drink it up. Let it spill. Touch.


Take the time to do that.


Take the effort to throw it a mile high and kick it when it comes down. Hug it and don't let it go. Stare at it. Clench your fists and yell it. Raise your arms to celebrate it. Hold its hands and dance. Close your eyes and take a chance. Make it happen.


Crawl through it on your hands and knees. Surrender. Defy. Rebel. Let it break you down. Get up with it. Run with it until your legs give out and you can't breathe or move or shout. Encircle it. Let it in. Float in it. Spin... Smile. Ride. Stack it up into the sky.

Burn it down to feel the heat. Chase it down a city street.


Tell it jokes until you cry. Cry with it. Cry with it until you smile. Laugh with it for a while.


Make it pretty. Give it away. Cover it with mud. Let it stay.


Race it to the edges of the Earth. Jump with it. Fly above.


Dream about it.


Shower it with love. Protect it.


Never. Ever. Forget it.


Don't forget.


(Note to Self)


This is it.

4.26.2010

Wandering Free

I've been meaning to blog for so long now, about so many things. I got the most beautiful gift in the mail from Emily, my long-distance muse, and took so many pictures to capture that wonderful moment of opening the brown paper wrapping and beholding a creativity & sunshine that only she can send. But I haven't blogged it, and I haven't blogged about the magical day when we found out we are having a baby girl, and I haven't blogged our Easter adventures, or how I've entered into another Mom Dimension with the addition of a new double stroller, or about all the great movies I've seen lately, or about how perfect our 5 year anniversary weekend at the Mission Inn was, or how we moved Jude into a vintage twin bed that is so beautiful and he's done so well with the switch and how I gave the nursery a complete makeover... I guess I've been having too much fun to sit at the computer and apply myself. Until now, until this, because I can't seem to do anything else with myself but cry. And what good does that do anyone really? Well you know what I mean, it's not something you can check off a to-do list.

On Friday when I went to get the mail (and have I mentioned this is one of my favorite things to do? Even when it's just junk mail, I love getting the mail. Because sometimes you get those "perfect mail days" when it's all brown paper package surprises and eBay purchases and Anthropologie catalogues and no bills at all! Anyway.) there was a black crow sitting on the mail box. I'm not superstitious but I've heard that's a sign of bad things to come. Which got me thinking about how life has been so great lately with mothering and our business and every little thing. Which made me wonder: When's this luck gonna shift? Because it always does. And the floods come and it feels like it's never going to stop but it does. It may sound pessimistic but I just like to keep it real.

It shifted the next day.

I was getting ready to go out for a perfect night with my boys: Lebanese dinner at Papa Hassans and Cherry on Top frozen yogurt bar for dessert, in charming old town Orange. It's one of our favorite things to do on a Saturday night after a family adventure and a nap. I'd given the tweezers out of my make-up bag to Jude so he could go "fix things". I was in the bedroom and Rhys was in our living room with Jude, when I heard a loud zapping sound and then screaming. All of our electricity had gone out and I ran into the front room where Rhys had scooped Jude up, ran towards the bathroom and yelled "He just electrocuted himself!" He had stuck the tweezers into the one solitary outlet that didn't have a plastic safety cover. I think I took it off to vacuum and left it off, but can't remember, it's just always been covered. I've not been one to take First Aid or CPR classes, I just don't have that preparation mentality. I chalk that up to having to pack a backpack in constant anticipation of The Big One, an earthquake that my apocolyptic, disaster-minded dad was convinced would be ending the world. And so many other things I lived in fear of, but that's a heavy post for another day. So I had no idea what to do but grab my son and run his burned fingers under cold water. Without the internet we couldn't look up the proper instant care of electrical burns so Rhys ran around trying to locate my cell phone to call the pediatrician. Who had to call us back, and by that time we were already in the car on the way to the ER with a tiny hand in a bucket of ice water. He screamed at the top of his lungs until his hand was numb, and then was perfectly happy with his Tootsie Roll pop in the other hand.

The ER experience was typical... slow, inept, frustrating, etc... so I'm not going to get into that. I'll just note that it took 2 nurses and an hour to get one EKG reading. And my child was sitting completely still, watching Finding Nemo on our portable DVD player. Heaven help them with a normal squirmy 2 year old. The hardest part was when they took the ice bucket away and dressed his third degree burns on three fingers. I've never heard Jude scream and cry the way he did then, and I can't get the image or sound out of my head. It just won't go away. It was also tough to have a social worker come and interview Rhys and I and inform us that since this was a "preventable accident", we should be expecting a visit from Child Protective Services. Now I know just what it feels like when your child is kidnapped and you are on the suspect list.

We came home to a dark house. Rhys rewired the outlet and got the electricity back on but our computer was fried. It was on the fritz but like an old Buick, we'd figured out how to jiggle it around a bit to get it to hang on for a whole year longer. It's amazing how far away the whole world feels when you are disconnected from the internet.

This isn't something that I ever expected to happen to Jude. He's such a careful little guy and he's so clingy that I'm almost always 2 inches away from him anyway. He doesn't take risks. He holds onto the stair rail every time because he wants to, not because I tell him to. After I unload him from the car he inevitably says "Hold my hand!" before we even get near a street. Accidents and injuries have been almost non-existent. But he does like to fix things with tools he finds around our house, and this one just happened to be made of metal. And the thing he decided to fix just happened to be a live electrical outlet. He's going to be fine, and it could have been so much worse. So I should focus on that. I know. I've gotten lots of "You guys really got lucky with this." And while I completely know what they mean, lucky is not something I feel right now. Rhys said there was a huge explosion with a shower of sparks when the incident happened, so the fact that nothing but a tiny dot in our carpet caught on fire will have to be our silver lining. That, and Jude will be completely healed in about two weeks and walked away with only small finger burns. Nothing that a little medication, sugar, and Blues Clues can't fix.

So here I sit, 4 pounds lighter than I was on Saturday due to stress and forgetting to eat and lugging the 30 lb love of my life around because I couldn't bear to let go of him for a second (although I have plenty of fat reserves from the pregnancy, I'm certainly not wasting away over here). We just got back from the follow-up appointment at a burn unit. Rhys went to work and I redressed Jude's burns and put the tiny mesh glove on his hand for the second time. And now he's napping peacefully, all is calm and quiet, and I don't know how I'm going to do this. For the next two weeks, and for the rest of my life. He's been so brave, so full of toddler gratitude, so patient, so good. I feel like I don't deserve it. He even said "Thanks for helping with my burns, Mama" and at one point came up with "Don't worry!" out of nowhere, in the most adorable toddler tone. How is he smarter than me in a situation like this? How is he not crying as much as I am? I hold it together until he's no longer around and then I just crumble. My baby has third degree burns and I feel like I'll never be able to relax as a mother again. I try so hard to be The Calm Mom and feel like I've been succeeding... and with Jude's gentle temperment it hasn't been difficult. Not a lot of "nos" just for the sake of saying no, lots of room to experiment and explore, surprisingly relaxed. But now I'd like to be substituted out of this game, thank you. I just can't do it, it's too hard. I'm a control freak idealist with no religion, how am I supposed to handle this? I love this tiny human so much it hurts, even when nothing is wrong there is an ever-present aching, because I know life brings ups and downs and I need them all to be ups for this guy. It feels like a part of my heart has walked off on two little legs and I'm fiercely trying to protect it but I just can't. It's out there, wandering free. It's gonna have a mind of it's own. It's going to have a drivers license someday and could get on a motorcycle anytime he wants. And hey, guess what?! I'm making another extension of myself right this minute, who'll be born at the end of July and divide every fiber of my aching love into even smaller pieces, and who will be going out on dates that extend way past her curfew and will be driven around by her boyfriend's race car convertible.

Really?
How do I do this.


2.04.2010

The Space Between

I posted a video (bottom of the blog) that I came across yesterday on one of my favorite photographer Davina's blog, created by the beautifully talented author Katherine Center. I was having a really bad day all around, and this little video instantly made everything better. I've watched it a few dozen times and somehow I have cried every single time, even though I have it memorized. That's mostly because of how artistically crafted it is, but can also be chalked up to some serious pregnancy hormones. I love that video.
~
Motherhood.
Equal parts joy and heartache.
It requires so much more than you ever thought you had to give.
~
Here I sit with a second baby riding shotgun, wondering how on earth I'll be able to mother two children at the same time. Wondering how I got as far as I did with this one I already have. I remember what one newborn was like, a little too vividly. Throw a toddler into the mix and what do you have? A simultaneous, three-way meltdown. I hope I can learn to balance this new life faster than I did the last one. There is nothing harder than finding that space in between Mother and Self. But there is also nothing more rewarding than discovering it and being able to stay in that delicate place.


1.25.2010

Where does it end? Where do I begin...

I've been gone so long, it feels like I died and was reborn as someone else... someone with the longest, strongest stomach flu anyone has ever survived. In other words, I'm pregnant.
~

I'm not going to spend a bunch of time trying to describe what the last 8 weeks (that's right, TWO MONTHS) of constant, all-day nausea was like because there are no words that could. Imagine walking around with someone's finger down your throat all day. It's kinda like that. In the last two months, I have left my couch and ventured out of the house only three times. You can imagine how many hours of HGTV that represents, and I think in the future if I see anyone trying to stage a home for a quick flip I might have an instant gag reflex from the association. I will also never be able to look at another Ritz cracker again.


As I type this, I am 14 weeks pregnant with my second baby and still have morning sickness. Which must have been named by a man because a woman WOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. It lasts all day. The only highlight of my day was being able to make a thick black "X" in Sharpie pen across the day I had just defeated on the calender... the only thing that made me feel somewhat accomplished. Today I seem to be getting slightly better, which is a relief because I was beginning to doubt that I'm growing a baby in my body at all but some wildly dangerous strain of the flu. What a horribly disappointing ultrasound that would be.
~

I feel incredibly blessed to have this opportunity to be pregnant with another tiny person. I have a few friends who are having trouble conceiving and I realize that my morning sickness is nothing compared to the frustration and heartache that surely causes. Every day I feel lucky to have gotten pregnant when I wanted to and that I've had no serious complications so far. That being said, this will be the last Buchele I make. I just can't go through this again. And if you ever hear me say that I'm tossing around the idea of having a third, please direct me to this blog entry ASAP.


So here's the amazing part. As it turns out, I live with the two best guys EVER. I knew this before, but the last couple of months have really proven it to me. Rhys has done more cooking, cleaning, diaper-changing and random-food-fetching that any one person should ever have to do and he hasn't missed a beat. On top of it, he has maintained a steady level of sympathy and support and love for cranky little me the entire time. I should mention that I've perfected the ultra-ratty hairstyle of Hermione circa early Harry Potter. And he seems to love me even more these days, despite the rats nest hairdo and the lazy outfits. I guess making internal organs of an offspring scores major points.


And my Jude, oh my little Jude. I'm amazed by this person every day, who seems to have caught onto the idea that mama isn't feeling her best, and has really been compassionate. He has been content just snuggling under a cozy blanket on the couch, watching home make-over shows and TLC all day. His favorite is Cake Boss, and oh my word, when there was an episode in which Sesame Street ordered their 40th anniversary cake from the Cake Boss it was the best day of Jude's life. I've been so lucky to have a toddler with his sensitive personality during this trying time of illness. It saved me. He even started asking to "Watch Ellen dance?" and "Where's a cake man?" I watched my share of Blues Clues too, so it all evened out. And no, we don't normally watch this much television. But I figured I'm in "survival mode" right now and 2 months of TV isn't going to ruin my toddler. I hope.
~

This new baby I'm baking appears to be quite a food connoisseur. I have craved nothing but gourmet meals from the start and watching Iron Chef really does us both in. If only I could have a personal chef here at the house, making me seared ahi (not like I could eat it anyway with those mercury levels, but whatever), caprese salads, delicately glazed lamb chops and risotto... I'd be huge right now. So I guess it's a good thing I don't have a personal chef living here.


Here's our latest precious moment: I told Rhys the other day that I'd been craving strawberry cupcakes with strawberry frosting (PINK!!?). So guess what our grocery list for tomorrow includes? That's right, he wrote on his own: strawberry cupcakes, strawberry frosting, SPRINKLES (this was his own doing, I did not specify sprinkles) and cupcake cups. I cried when I saw these delicate feminine ingredients written in my husband's writing. He's gonna make me cupcakes. It's the sweetest thing of all time.
~


I'm a crazily lucky girl.