All In

Ever since I started working in the office again, the days just seem to fly by. It's been a busy couple of weeks. I've had two bouts with mastitis, breast infections that knocked me out (I literally almost passed out at one point) for a couple of days each time. Matthew had two weddings, Saturday and Sunday, last weekend. I took the boys to Baton Rouge Sunday to see Pampaw and the rest of the Oivanki gang at Uncle Steve's for Father's Day. Monday I found out I was rejected for health insurance. Dean has had trouble sleeping all week -- one night he was crying so inconsolably we thought he had an ear infection and had to take him to the doctor today (he's fine). And then there's the fact that rain has been almost non-existent, except for one afternoon deluge for which we were very grateful -- it was getting so hot I was starting to lose the will to live (or at least to exercise).

We're really happy that Matthew now has two weekends off in a row, after ten straight weekends of weddings. But of course, that busy schedule means he now has lots of weddings to process, so there's really no time off for him. It's nice for our pocketbook, but the workload is really stressing both of us out. Right now he's fixing one of our windows because it leaks air, and we're trying to keep as much of the cool inside where it belongs. We took the boys to The Children's Museum today since it has been too hot to go outside, except to swim. Henry's doing really well in that department. In the past few weeks he's gone from refusing to put even his mouth in the water to actually swimming back and forth between the two of us. He's still not a strong swimmer by any means but we are getting closer, and he's so proud of himself. We just made a Michael Jackson compilation to listen to in the car so he can get to know the King of Pop as well as he knows AC Newman and REM. We also downloaded the Thriller film off YouTube and let him watch it (well, most of it, we skipped when MJ turns into a werewolf). This whole week of memorials has brought back my childhood Friday nights, when we would arrive to spend the weekend at our country house in Rosedale and I would put on the Thriller album in my bedroom and just dance like crazy. I couldn't have been more than 7 or 8, but I knew every song by heart.

I am trying not to overlook the wonder of Dean in the middle of the heat and the stress and the fatigue of keeping up with both kids. He has such a lovely personality. He smiles at least as much as Henry did at this age, which is to say almost all the time. He loves his bath, though yesterday he rolled himself over face first in the water, not a pleasant experience for him or his Daddy. His favorite sound to make is a high-pitched screech that woke me from a sound sleep at 7 a.m. the other morning. I ran into the nursery thinking one of my children was on fire, only to see Henry pointing at the crib where I found Dean with an enormous grin on his face. He and Henry have this little game they play where Henry laughs and laughs and then Dean starts talking to him and they're both going back and forth making these funny little half-laughs, half-murmurs. I've tried to catch it on video, but Dean gets very self-conscious on camera and clams up. He also loves peekaboo and sucking on things -- he'll even suck on my chin. He's a fat little man, all chubby cheeks and round little foot-balls. I love watching his feet when I feed him at nighttime. He gets so relaxed and his tiny toes curl up and down and his fat feet cross each other and his sweet blue eyes begin to close as he drifts off to sleep.

I always trusted that I would love both of my boys equally, but it is fascinating to me how the love I feel for them is different, just because they are different. There's no question it's equal, but my relationship with each of them is such a contrast. I am simply in love with Dean, captivated by his every breath, passionate about all his changes. I am deeply loving toward Henry, more compassionate than passionate, but no less enthralled with his development. Rearing them is the most challenging thing I have ever done, but also the most satisfying. Matthew and I set out to have kids knowing the sacrifices that would be involved but knowing that you get out of life what you put into it, and it was time to go all in. I am so glad we did.

Hello Happy Happiness

I know that the attainment of perfection is a hollow aspiration...but, um, have you met me? Well, anyway, laudable or not, I have to say that I think my life right now is as close to perfect as it has ever been, and I am truly happy.

Seems strange that at a time when I'm filled with such contentment I would cease posting to this blog. I have needed some time to adjust to working, to get into the rhythm of the new schedule, and maybe I've just been giving myself a chance to acclimate. Whatever the reason, I am going to try to be on here more often.

My current state of mind stems from a number of things, but I think what has catapulted it into "happiness" (a term I do not use casually), is that I've crossed the last hurdle post-baby and am still standing. Going back to the office was a big step for me. I was pretty sure it would be a smooth transition, but if anything was going to be a hiccup, I figured that would be it. But it has gone wonderfully -- Dean took to the bottle pretty well, pumping is fine, Matthew is enjoying his time with the little guy, and I've really enjoyed being back in the professional atmosphere of the office. I like putting on my makeup and heels in the morning. I like listening to NPR in the quiet of my car. I like focusing my mind on new projects, catching up on the latest industry news, working with my friends and feeling competent again (reasonably) at something other than a one-handed diaper change. And just when I get tired of working and long for a leisurely day with my boys, it's Friday and I'm home all day.

I feel like I have been working to get to this point for SO LONG. Really, it goes back to when I first went to work full-time after having Henry and passing the bar (I had worked part-time up until taking the exam). It was a crushing blow to realize that my plan of working full-time while Matthew was the stay-at-home parent was akin to sticking a knife in my heart every morning. From that point on, we worked toward a goal of both of us working part-time. I eventually negotiated a 40-hour a week schedule (part-time in the legal world), but it was another year before Matthew's business gave us enough security to think about my cutting back further. And by then Henry was older and in school and I was feeling more comfortable with my schedule, so we decided to wait until after we had another child. Two years of trying and almost adopting and trying again later, we finally had that wonderful second child and I had worked four years in a job where my bosses could trust that I could still be a meaningful contributor to the firm even at only 24 hours a week. So here we are -- I work about six hours a day Monday through Thursday and take over primary child-care duties Friday and Saturday. I'm not sure how much closer to the much-mythologized work-life balance you can get.

But it's more than just my wonderful new work schedule. It's Dean and how delightful and manageable he is. Let me just say again, so there is no ambiguity: I have always wanted three children and the fact that my body/psyche/whatever-it-is-that-f*cks-me-up-when-I-am-pregnant makes it unwise for me to be pregnant again has caused me a great deal of sorrow. But it is what it is and I have accepted the fact that I will have two wonderful healthy boys in my life and that's it. So I have moved on to the silver lining phase, which is I WILL NEVER HAVE TO GO TWO AND HALF MONTHS WITHOUT SLEEPING EVER AGAIN. While there were parts of the newborn phase I loved with both my boys and my heart always gets soft and weepy when I think of their tiny little hands and coal-black newborn eyes and near weightlessness in my arms, let's not overly romanticize it: at least for me, the first two and half months of my sons' lives were spent with sleeplessness, constant crying from acid reflux, and, in the case of Dean, migraines and post-partum depression. Now that he is a well-settled, sweet-tempered almost-five month old who usually sleeps through the night, it finally dawned on me that the worst is over. I have no illusions about the other challenges of parenthood, but barring chronic illness or other tragedy in any of our lives, I think I can handle all of it better than I can handle almost three months without sleeping more than three hours straight. Whew.

So here I am/we are: Henry is reading and is such a proud older brother, he's just blossoming in so many ways (today when I couldn't look at something he was doing he told me with a shrug, "Okay, but I don't know what you're missing."); Dean is rolling over and babbling and sucking on his hands like they're covered in illicit drugs (I think he might be getting a tooth); Matthew is way too busy but still seems to thrive on the challenge; and I simply can't think of much to complain about...except the weather, I can always complain about summer in South Louisiana. Damn it's hot.

Cleanup on Aisle Five

Well, it finally happened.

Saturday, in a burst of parental optimism, I decided to take both boys with me to the grocery store, my first attempt at such a feat. Everything was going fairly smoothly until we were shopping for the last item on our list, rice. I was trying to find the basmati when Henry said, "Look, Mommy, I found ketchup." I turned around to remind him that we have a "no picking things up" rule at the grocery store. One second after I told him this and also said, that's not ketchup, that's spaghetti sauce, so let's put it back -- CRASH.

For the first millisecond, I simply didn't believe it had happened. My child had not just dropped a glass jar of gourmet spaghetti sauce all over the floor and all over me. I was never going to be THAT MOTHER -- you know, the one who's kids are always running around, making messes, and generally causing everyone in their vicinity to regard them as if they have the swine flu. And yet, there I was, covered in spaghetti sauce, with Henry crying because he had cut his finger and Dean crying because Henry was crying. Believe me, I wanted to be crying, too.

The store employees were remarkably cheerful about the whole thing, and Henry's finger was fine. But I was still completely freaked out and just wanted to get out of that store FAST. So we skipped the rice (pretty much everyone had to skip the rice while they cleaned up the aisle) and I was grateful to find a line with just one other person in it. As I was signing my name on the slip, Dean decided he had had quite enough and began screaming at the top of his lungs. No amount of sweet talking and pacifier-bribing would quiet his crying, which then turned into gagging -- while he was still strapped into the car seat in the grocery cart. So then I had to hastily get him out of the seat while people are standing behind me, waiting to exit the store.

I was shaking by the time we all finally got into the car.

Wow. Now I know how THAT MOTHER feels and I will never again judge her so harshly.

The day ended up pretty well. Henry and I baked a chocloate chip banana cake from scratch -- it took most of the afternoon and at one point I think Dean and I had such a combination of spit up and flour on ourselves I couldn't tell which was which -- but I am glad we did it because it gave me some one-on-one time with Henry, at least while Dean was napping. After Dean went to bed for the evening, Henry and I stayed up and watched "James and the Giant Peach" and ate our cake. At one point Henry said, "Mommy, I love you. And I like you." And later on, he said, "This was a special night." When I asked why, he said it was because we got to bake a cake and watch a movie together.

Days like that make it so much easier to get over the recent turbulence I wrote about last post. He's improved a lot since then. I think maybe his teacher had the same realization we did about moving on to more challenging work, because he started coming home with books to read to us and his school work seemed to have gone to a new level. He can now spell almost anything if it follows phonetic rules and he really seems proud of his ability to read on his own. There were also dramatically fewer time outs reported.

He also did wonderfully in his little final performance for his acting class. It turns out he was the youngest by far. I think Matthew and I sometimes forget what a small child he still is -- seeing him there, surrounded by six year olds, and still managing to hold his own, really reminded us of how he is still a baby in some ways. When he came onstage, walking on tip-toes with his hands near his face like a little mouse, all the other parents went, "Awwww." He was too intimidated to end up playing the part in which he was cast, but he served admirably as the MC, introducing each scene with his teacher by his side. He was so thrilled to be in costume, with his face painted, and he just seemed to love every minute of it. We were so proud of him.

In Dean news, he is now grasping things and rolling over and developing a sense of humor. I got some full belly laughs when I tried sticking his toes in his mouth. He really loves his massage and yoga time, and I do, too -- it definitely helps me feel connected to him and I think will be a nice afternoon ritual when I go back to the office (next week is my last at home).

I am actively working to manage my migraines. They've picked up again since I started working, and tend to peak on Saturdays when I am juggling both boys on my own all day. I have a hard time accepting that they remain such a big factor in my life, but I am making a commitment to maintaining my biofeedback regimen and practicing the Heartmath techniques and just trying to S-L-O-W D-O-W-N every day. Why is relaxing so much effort?

Transitions

Sorry for the hiatus, but resuming work has been a bit of a transition. I think I have the kinks worked out now, at least for the next couple of weeks, after which I'll have another transition as I return to the office.

The first week back was pretty rough, but not for the reasons I expected. Dean and Matthew handled being on their own just fine, and being able to nurse him throughout the day really made me feel connected. It was the actual WORK that was tough -- within an hour of starting work, I had three projects from three different bosses and everyone needed everything ASAP. With only six scheduled working hours a day on my proposed new part-time gig, I was really under the gun. I ended up having a migraine for three days in a row. Once I got everything done, however, things slowed down, and this last week was a more typical, manageable pace.

The other thing that made last week difficult was that Matthew had so many things going on. May is a really busy wedding month for him -- everyone wants their bridal portraits and engagement sessions done when the weather is nice, and of course they also book more weddings then. Last week he had a session -- either a portrait, or in one case, an actual weeknight wedding -- almost every single night of the week, in addition to his regularly scheduled Saturday wedding gig. So that meant right when I finished working, I had to switch into single-mom mode, all with a migraine or the effects of medication resulting therefrom. There was one afternoon in particular when the nitty-gritty of motherhood really hit me in the face. Ultimately, the kids have to eat, and at that moment there was only one person who could feed them, headache or no headache.

But all's well that ends well and this week was pretty good. No migraines, no evening portraits, I got my work done, and we even bought a new car. Yep, we traded in the Jetta station wagon for a six-person Mazda 5. It was a little sentimental letting the Jetta go. It was our first new car ever, and we bought it when I was pregnant with Henry. We brought him home from the hospital in that car, and it's been pretty good to us ever since. But now we have two kids, which means two car seats. And more and more often we were finding ourselves in a bind because we couldn't fit a third -- carpooling would mean Matthew couldn't bring Dean, and that would pretty unworkable once I'm back at the office. Plus, Henry actually has a social life now, yet we could never bring any of his friends anywhere if Dean was going, too, not unless we took two cars. Matthew was adamantly against getting a minivan, and we're not really SUV people, plus they tend to cost more than we wanted to spend. So we ended up with a silver Mazda 5. It's pretty cool, actually. I am most excited about the ipod jack. I realize this is de rigeur on most new cars these days, but the Jetta and the Versa don't have them, so I'm psyched.

Mother's Day was a long day, but a good one. It started with my sleeping in (after a early morning nursing session), followed by a lovely brunch Matthew cooked up, with my Mom bringing over the champagne for Mimosas. Then we spent the day cleaning the yard and the porch and bought some kiddie pools -- one small one to cool our feet on the porch, and another big one for Henry in the yard. It was a low key day, but I still ended up utterly exhausted by the evening, mostly because of issues with Henry. My dear sweet boy is turning into a bit of a behavioral challenge. The sweetness is still there, but there are equal doses of obstinance, flippancy, and sass. Plus, he seems to have inherited Matthew's absentmindedness. Even when he wants to do the right thing, he is easily distracted and often sluggish. He's also been getting "timeouts" at school. It turns out they use these more as cooling off periods for the kids and it isn't always necessarily a punishment, but apparently there are times when he simply will not obey his teacher. Earlier this week she called us to say he had thrown his work on the floor. Matthew and I ended up having a sort of intervention with him when he got home. Usually, he doesn't like to talk about his day right when he walks in from school, though I can often coax details out of him later at bathtime or when we're reading books. But this day we told him no TV (punishment you would think was akin to cutting off his toes), and we were going to talk. It was a revealing conversation, but we are still unsure of the solutions.

I am worried that the Montessori environment is not quite right for him. I thought at first it would be great because he could work independently and at his own pace. But over the past six months, he has gone from being a shy kid to being very outgoing -- he seems to really like group activities and he certainly has no shortage of energy. I think maybe having to sit in one place and do work all day without a lot of interaction with other kids is a bit much for him (you can usually hear a pin drop in his classroom). He also seems to be frustrated by some of his work, and I have to confess I myself can't imagine enjoying the repetitive nature of it, either. As I understand the Montessori philosophy, the kids learn component skills -- fine motor skills, abstract mathematic concepts, phonetic sounds -- before they learn how to integrate these. I know all parents think their kids are brilliant, and I certainly don't want to excuse garden variety bad behavior as being a result of my child's supposed exceptionality, but the fact is Henry tested with a very high IQ when he was evaluated for gifted. I am convinced he would be reading more now (though he's made great leaps in the past month) if he was given a chance to memorize words, rather than just learn phonetic sounds. And I am certain he would like math if he could see the point of it -- he has a very mathematical mind (Spoon in my head) but it seems to me like the work he's doing at school doesn't make a lot of sense to him.

Anyway, this is a long way of saying that we have concerns. We're taking the usual steps to address them -- staying in touch with his teachers, doing some behavior modification at home, trying to give him creative outlets like acting class (which he adores), and considering other possibilities for next year and beyond -- but in general it is just unsettling to feel like my little guy is not shining like I believe he could. The teacher sometimes complains that Henry is just "too silly." I can understand her impatience, but his innocent goofiness is one of the things I cherish about him. He is growing up so fast; there is plenty of time to be serious.

The End of Maternity Leave

Today was Dean's first trip to the zoo, as Henry pointed out, unprompted, as we got out of the car. I can't say he was more fascinated with it than he is by the sound of rain falling or the shadows over his changing table, but it was a successful trip nonetheless. Henry, of course, loved it, especially the new animatronic Dinosaur exhibit. I found it mildly reminiscent of the creepy drum-banging bears at the Chuck E. Cheese parties of my childhood, but he was totally into it. He also enjoyed smashing the stinging caterpillars with his shoes. I'm not sure people from outside South Louisiana can understand the menace of these horrid creatures, but they terrorized our childhoods. They are despicable. And they were everywhere, all over the zoo, hanging onto tree trunks, crisscrossing the sidewalks, even lying in wait at the end of the slides and tunnels on the playground. Maybe spraying the trees for them is bad for the zoo animals, or it goes against the zoo's environmental policies. I can only hope that the reason they did not exterminate them (as a bunch of neighbors banded together in our neighborhood to do this season) was not the one a zookeeper gave us as we instructed Henry to stomp on one: "Oh, no, don't kill it, it's a living creature." Only by the grace of my foot, you nincompoop. It's like keeping a wasp nest in a swingset -- there's a time and place for all creatures, I suppose, but a zoo playground is not one of them.

Anyway...

Matthew is in the kitchen chopping up some zucchini, fresh from our garden, for supper. Dean is napping, and Henry and I are both in the office, he playing computer games on Matthew's computer while I blog. Rain is falling (finally) gently outside. It's a mellow end to my three and half months of maternity leave. Tomorrow I start working again, albeit from home. Next month I'll be back in the office, hopefully on a reduced schedule I am still negotiating. It's because of the potential for that schedule that I think I am less freaked out than I might otherwise be about returning to work. Nevertheless, I am still feeling melancholic this evening. I cannot conceive of another time in my life when I will be off work for so long, short of retirement. Not that I have spent the time eating bon bons, but it has been nice to have this time, especially since the first two and half months were difficult, with the sleeplessness, migraines, and just general assault on normalcy that is life with a newborn. Being home and being the primary caretaker to Dean has meant I've gotten to fully bond with my little guy, to learn his likes and dislikes, his tickle spots and favorite games, the cry that means tired and the cry that means bored. I am just so in love with him.

I have two sons. This still seems both thrilling and strange to me. My experience of the "baby blues" this time (not to be confused with the more serious depression that only set in weeks later) was focused on how Dean is my last baby, my last newborn. The pain of this knowledge was so raw and piercing those first couple of weeks. I sometimes held him in my arms, rocking his sweet little body, crying until the wispy hairs on his head were soaking.

Time (and the misery of waking every two to three hours for two months) soothed some of that grief. Of course I know I could just decide to try again for another child -- but for ever so many reasons I know that is not going to happen. It was hard to conceive Henry, even harder to conceive Dean, and then there were the actual pregnancies themselves, fraught with pain and depression. I have two happy, healthy children, which is more than many people ever get. Even though it is not what I had in mind for so many years and even though it requires some emotional acceptance, it is enough.

In a way, the end of this maternity leave gives me an opportunity to reflect on all the good that is in my life. I feel like I have beein trying to get to this point for at least two years. Once I finally felt ready to be pregnant again, my polysyctic ovarian syndrome made conception very challenging -- drugs and doctors and my constant worry that I was doing the right thing weighed on me for months. Then we turned to adoption, going through all the interviews and paperwork and spending more money than I care to think about, only to have to abort the whole enterprise when international agreements feel through. Then it was back to fertility treatments. Dean was conceived on our last official "try", when I insisted on trying Clomid one more time, even though my doctor didn't hold out hope and the other drugs had not worked. I was so afraid something would go wrong throughout the whole pregnancy, especially when I had to medicate to get through the migraines.

And now, here he is, apparently healthy, unarguably happy, irrepressibly cute. I have two beautiful sons. I have a loving husband who is a terrific father. I have a job I actually like, a comfortable house in a neighborhood I love, and I am no longer feeling so weighed down by depression that I can't appreciate and enjoy these wonderful things.

So, yes, I am sad about maternity leave ending. But really, I have much to celebrate.

The Joy of Closets

We had a very busy and exciting weekend. The new closet is finished! "New" implies that there was something closet-like there before, which there wasn't. Matthew basically tore down/converted an old kitchen into the floor plan for our master bathroom and walk-in closet. The bathroom is not finished yet (the tiling and painting are done, but the toilet and vanity aren't yet installed...or even selected) but the plywood wall between the bedroom and the new space was finally ready to come down on Saturday, so that we could move our clothing from the piles of boxes and makeshift shelves in our bedroom and guestroom into the lovely carpeted closet, with bright white shelves painted last weekend by Matthew and Henry. It is glorious to see everything neatly folded and hung in its place and have that chaos out of our bedroom. Plus, I can now easily get to the washer and dryer. Prior to the start of the renovation project, I always was in charge of laundry, and although its not a task I relish, I like doing it my own way and not having to ask Matthew to deal with it. So now I can get all Dean's spit-up drenched clothes and bibs washed whenever I want. Ah, the little things that make one happy.

Once the clothing and shoes were moved into the new space, we had room in other areas of the house to rearrange other stuff, so yesterday we tackled reorganizing the guest room and the walk-in pantry (which basically serves as our only other closet). We also culled a lot of clothes and household items, which I am planning to drive over to Covenant House this afternoon to donate. And now I have space in the guest room to store some of Henry's toys -- it's been really hard on him having to wait until the baby as awake to get his things out of his room, so now he'll have stash on hand and the space in which to play with it. There are still more boxes than I care to count, filled mostly with books, and stacks of decorative items and wall hangings jumbled in corners, but those will have to wait until we can redo the guest room.

One of the wonderful things about getting all this done this weekend is that I won't be distracted by it when I start working from home next week. Yes, materrnity leave is about to be over. I have mixed feelings about it. When I ask myself if I would rather be a full time stay-at-home Mom than work part-time, the answer is (somewhat surprisingly) No. I really like my job (most of the time) and the sense of competence it gaves me in an area outside domestic life. On the other hand, if I ask myself if I am really ready to go back to work NOW, the answer is also No. But since I'm not sure I could ever say for sure that I am ready, and given the answer to the first question, I think I have to just jump back in as planned.

I think it will be emotionally difficult working from home this next month. It's an arrangement I negotiated in order to have more flexibility to nurse Dean (he still eats seven times a day) and I'll go back to the office on a regular basis the following month. I think it's a good plan, but it will be challenging not being the one caring for him during the day. We've developed such a nice little routine. He usually (which is a relative term, defined as "for the last five days") sleeps until between 7:30 and 8:30 (I know, amazing) and then I feed him and play with him on his mat (he just discovered his hands and loves to bat at things), then I move him to the baby papasan and let him listen to its horrible music and watch me while I clean the kitchen. Then we go into the bedroom for his massage. Then, if the weather is nice, we sit on the front porch and watch the neighbors pass by and the mockingbird parents flit around, guarding their babies. Then it's time for his nap. On a good day (like today) he'll sleep for an hour and half or more, so I can clean the rest of the house, brush my teeth and basically make myself presentable, and catch up on e-mails and household business. Then he's awake again and we spend the rest of the day doing pretty much the same stuff, usually going for a walk with Henry once he's home from school.

I was mostly motivated to get him sleeping through the night early by the need to control the migraines, but the other benefit (beside the sheer pleasure of sleeping seven or eight hours in a row) is that it has given me the chance to enjoy this time. Rather than merely surviving, which is how the first ten weeks felt, for the past few weeks I've been able to feel like a human being, to find humor and joy in the day, and to delight in him. And I've been able to accomplish a lot of other personal goals, like visiting my grandfather in Baton Rouge and friends I haven't seen in a while, getting things around the house organized, and even catching up on some reading. I know things will get more complicated once I am working again. But I am going to try very hard to maintain some of this sense of calm, the appreciation for the gentle unfolding of each day, the grace to recognize (especially in the witching hour of the evening, when Dean is crankier and Henry's energy leaves me breathless) that this is a temporary time of my life, one to cherish and have the patience to enjoy, knowing that falling into bed exhausted at the end of each day because of energy spent caring for my boys is really more of a gift than anything else.

Good Things

It's amazing the difference a week or two can make in the life of a newborn...and his mother. Dean is now the happy, adaptable, adorable baby his big brother was at this age. And...drum roll, please...he has started sleeping through the night. I was going to put that in caps, but I thought it might be tempting fate. Even writing it at all makes me want to knock on all available wood. But for the past week he has slept from his 11:00 pm feeding straight through to six or seven a.m. I feel like a new human being! And although we've been making a concerted effort to keep him on his regular eat-play-nap schedule, his nighttime sleep habits seem immune to the activities of the day -- we dragged him to French Quarter Festival two days in a row, followed by a trip yesterday to a birthday party in Madisonville for Henry's friends, and he still got a good night's sleep. I am so relieved.

And -- more knocking on wood -- I have not had a migraine since I started taking the Zoloft. That's almost three weeks now. I guess my brain really needed the seratonin bath. I still stand by my decision not to take anti-depressants during the pregnancy, but I do wonder what difference it would have made in the migraine frequency and intensity. Oh, well, no regrets, just so happy to be pain-free again for the first time in months.
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My friend Rachel just gave me a t-shirt that says "Motherhood is not for sissies" and I have been wearing it proudly. It's funny -- motherhood (and parenting) is so commonplace, it is so easy to take for granted what a difficult job it is. And yet I can think of nothing more challenging. Being a parent requires use of all your faculties, all your virtues, and the suppression of ever-so-many vices. Taking care of Henry and Dean these past few months has really stretched my emotional capacities. I haven't been writing about Henry much on here, but I really should, he is undergoing a transformation almost as dramatic as Dean's. A few weeks ago I signed him up for an acting class for preschoolers. Not for the reasons one might guess -- I really don't care if he develops any skill or passion for it -- but just because it seemed like a good way to channel his energies and give him the creative outlet I'm not sure he's getting at school. I was a little worried about how he would adjust -- except for school, we've never dropped him off at any activity before. And my fears were justified -- the first day, when Matthew brought him, he clung to Matthew's legs and would not separate under any circumstances. Matthew and I had to convene once they returned and figure out how to handle it. Certainly we didn't want to force him to do something he hated, and I didn't want to traumatize him with separation anxiety. But we felt confident that he could do it, that he could get over his fears and that he would actually like the class once he got used to it. And we wanted him to have that confidence in himself, too. If we had let him quit, we thought it might make him think he couldn't handle new situations. So I spent a good deal of time talking to him about the class, and about how sure I was that he could do it. He maintained that he couldn't, and that he would not participate, but he did agree that he would try it again the next week. And I thought that was a good start. So the next week I brought him. The whole car trip he kept saying he didn't think he could do it, and I calmly repeated that I thought he could. We did a quick goodbye at the class and I waited to see if the teacher would call if he melted down irretrievably. But it didn't happen. And when his daddy picked him up an hour later, he was actually excited, and very very proud of himself. He's now learning lines to be the "ant" in the play, and the teacher says he's doing great. So score one for Henry.

Henry is so bright and articulate and emotionally in tune with others that our next big challenge is figuring out a balance of adult-time and kid-time. He wants to be a part of all our conversations, constantly asking what we're talking about and even chiming in with, "That's right" and "I know" even when he's NOT being included in the dialogue and has no clue what we're discussing. On one hand, this is kind of cute and I know he comes by it naturally -- Matthew and I have both been told we were more comfortable with adults than with other kids when we were his age. But on the other hand, it can be annoying and seems to verge on inappropriate. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but he has to learn boundaries. His interest in adult things is combined with a quickly developing sense of entitlement that is DEFINITELY not appropriate, and which we are working earnestly to curb. But overall it indicates to me that he is really growing up, really learning to express his own desires and interests, and at this point I am mostly grateful that this maturity allows him to delight in Dean and be incredibly understanding and helpful, rather than resentful or competitive. I hope they are always as happy with each other -- no one can get a smile from Dean as quickly as Henry.

Life seems to be getting into a rhythm and I am feeling so happy about my beautiful boys and my lovely city. There is no place like New Orleans in spring, especially during festival season. The sunshine, the birdsong, the brass bands, the crawfish...it's hard not to appreciate all the good things on a warm day in April.

Settling In

It's been about ten days since I started the Zoloft, and I am feeling better. I still don't feel as happy as I believe I have cause to feel, but I am no longer crying every day and everything just basically feels surmountable, where before it felt impossible. I also haven't had a migraine since I started taking it -- and that has gone a long way toward making me feel more in control of my daily life and outlook.

Dean is just delightful these days, smiling and generally becoming more "settled." I remember that happening with Henry at this stage -- in the space of a couple of weeks, he went from being a baby I described in my diary as "never happy" to being content and comfortable in our routines. Dean is proving to be pretty adaptable and easygoing, as our frequent hiking in the Smokies suggested he would be. Yesterday we took him to the Hornets game, along with Henry and Bob, and he just sat there, taking it all in, nursing when it was time, and then sleeping blissfully through the screaming as the Hornets whupped the Mavericks. Then we drove across the lake for a casual Easter dinner with Matthew's parents and left Henry there for the night. It was nice to be the parents to just one child for an evening, though the disrupted schedule yesterday had Dean waking up a lot more last night. At least when he was fussing we didn't have to usual worry of him waking up Henry in the next bed.

Today Dean and I took our first stroller walk (up to now, I've been taking him around the neighborhood in the Bjorn). He wasn't too happy with the arrangement at first, but once we started moving the bumps and breezes lulled him to sleep. The only problem (and I realize that for parents whose newborn never sleeps, this hardly seems like a problem) was that he feel asleep two hours before his next scheduled feeding. I knew he would not sleep straight through that stretch, and sure enough he woke up and resisted going back to sleep. I had to make a decision -- let him get up cranky and thinking he was due a meal, or have our first "cry it out" session. He was clearly tired and in need of more snoozing, so I decided to let him cry. It was really tough, and I'm not sure I'll continue with it, but with me standing next to him shushing and offering the pacifier, he eventually did tire himself out and drift off and has now been sleeping for a good half hour. There are so many decisions like that, all day long, never knowing for sure if you're making the "right" call. I've learned to just go on instinct and try to be consistent, and remember that there's nothing that can't be undone. It also helps that I have a happy and healthy four-year old grinning at me half the time, a testament that I at least managed to "get it right" once before and have a good chance of doing so again.

Getting There

I've been on hiatus, for both practical and emotional reasons. On the practical level, we've been BUSY. After Rach and Phil left, we hopped in the car for a two day drive to the Smokies, stopping at Rock City and Lookout Mountain along the way. We were at the cabin for a week and then made the 12 hour drive home (normally ten and a half, but nursing a newborn slows you down a bit) in one day. One VERY long day.

Then we had a lovely but busy rest of the week and a wonderful weekend, going to the Algiers Riverfest and having our friends Allison and Christian and their new baby boy, Pascal, over for the fest and some impromptu crawfish ettoufee. Today is the first day I've had a moment to sit down with the computer for more than two minutes (tho Dean probably senses this and is about to wake from his mid-morning nap).

There were some cherished memories made in the Smokies. Although I spent the first twenty-four hours sick with food poisoning (bad red beans and rice from a Popeyes on the way up) and had to deal with a couple of migraines while I was there, we managed to hike with the boys almost every day (Laurel Falls, Gatlinburg Trail, a trail I can't remember off the Roaring Fork motor tour, and our annual favorite, the Little River trail). Henry just loved it, especially running ahead of us and hiding behind trees so he could jump out and "surprise" us. Bob came with us and was Henry's favorite scare victim (she was a really good sport, sounding believably surprised even on the tenth "Boo!"). I loved thinking about how much fun it will be when Dean is older and we can all go on real hikes together, to some of the ones Matthew and I loved doing when we lived in Tennessee -- Andrew's Bald comes to mind -- and camping along the river in summer.

Our friends Jason and Ellen were with us for most of the week, and Ellen treated us to a fabulous home cooked meal every single night. This made life so much easier, as Matthew and Bob were available to help with Henry and Dean. Dean started really "waking up" out of his newborn phase during the week, smiling and cooing more often, and he was really a pretty easy baby most of the time, falling asleep in the Bjorn as we toted him around the mountains. He also likes being in the car seat -- Henry hated it and screamed almost our whole trip when we made this trek with him when hewas two months old -- but Dean usually fell asleep within five minutes of a drive and would only cry when he was hungry. But, boy, did he cry then. We had to stop a couple of times in really remote places just so I could make sure he was not going to choke to death while screeching.

Perhaps my favorite memory of the trip was when Henry learned to ice skate. I had tears in my eyes, I was so proud of him. It was a little like watching your child learn to walk, except accelerated -- he went from hanging on to the rail for dear life to scooting around the ice on his own in barely over an hour. Matthew was a very patient teacher while I had Dean on my chest and video recorded the experience for posterity. I was so impressed with the way Henry kept getting up and trying again after each time he fell, big irrepressible grin on his face each time. It seemed like he was experiencing pure joy, just loving the challenge, the novelty, and laughing every time he collapsed between his Daddy's legs.

But I can't pretend that everything over the past few weeks has been sweetness and light. The truth is I have been dealing with some serious depression for about a month now. I feel like it started before my sister came for her visit but really revealed its depth when she left. I spent the three or four days afterward crying at the drop of a hat, all day long. Perhaps what disturbed me most was the fact that I realized I was sometimes going a whole day without really talking to Dean or interacting with him. I changed his diapers, nursed him, rocked him to sleep, but I was too tired and depressed to muster a smile or chat for him. And I realized this was maybe more than a brief dip in my mood when Henry saw me crying -- when I told him that Mommy was just having a bad day and would feel better soon, he said, 'Yes, but then you always get sad again and that worries me." Matthew was worried, too, and I started to think that I should get some help. I talked with a couple of close mom friends who told me about their own experiences with post partum depression and what they described really seemed to match what I was feeling. One friend, whose judgment and good sense I trust almost more than anyone else in the world, told me that when she finally went on an anti-depressant when her last child was born, she wished she had done it with her first two, because he was the first child whose infancy she enjoyed. I was concerned about taking drugs while breastfeeding, but my OB assured me it would be fine. And the fact is that if I relied on my own internal resources to get through this, which I've always done in the past, it could be half of Dean's little life before the depression lifts, and I have to weigh the impact on his emotional development against any riskk the medication could pose to him. Considering everything, I decided it would be best to go on Zoloft for a while.

I'm still very ambivalent about it. I haven't taken medication to deal with depression in thirteen years. It sort of feels like a cop out, especially since I feel confident that once I can get some regular sleep under my belt and Dean gets through the fourth trimester, a lot of this sadness and despair will evaporate. I mean, doesn't everyone with a newborn get worn out and depressed at some point? Should we really be medicating a natural, and temporary, state of mind? On the other hand, I did read that 75% of women who experience depression during pregnancy will also have post-partum depression, and there is no question I was very depressed during the pregnancy. So maybe my emotional synapses got into a bit of a rut -- if this medication will help me get on a new path sooner, so that I can be to newborn Dean the engaged, present mother I was to Henry at this age, I believe it's the right thing to do.

I have felt better over this past week. I'm not sure how much of it is the Zoloft, how much is the renewed confidence I got from a visit with the biofeedback therapist who helped so much during the pregnancy, and how much is the simple fact that Dean is getting easier to handle and more endearing every day. I marvel at his delicate beauty, sweet temperament, and especially the heart-stopping smiles he gives to Henry. The migraines have also been better the past few days, so I'm sure that's helping, too. If Dean can just start sleeping regularly through the night (a feat he has managed once, so I am keeping my fingers crossed we'll be there soon), I feel I can finally enjoy all the sweetness in my life right now.

Seven Weeks

Dean turned seven weeks old on Monday -- it is hard to believe it has been seven weeks since that long night of contractions and that blink-and-you-missed-it c-section. He has changed and developed so much over the past couple of weeks -- the smiles are more frequent but no less amazing, the Zantac finally seems to be helping, and his chubby little cheeks attract kisses like fat pink magnets. I wish I could report that I have started catching up on sleep, but we still have a way to go on that front. There has definitely been improvement -- we've stopped automatically changing his diaper before every feeding during the night, which means he can stay swaddled during the nursing and usually goes back to sleep pretty easily. The spitting up remains a problem, especially at night, when I either have to sit with him upright for fifteen or twenty minutes after nursing, or gamble on a major spit up after I lay him down. The frustrating thing is, he often seems to have a spit-up episode even if I have gotten a good burp out of him and kept him upright the recommended amount of time, so I am starting to experiment with the gamble. I've gone back to the Babywise basics, and he is now sleeping for longer stretches. It's amazing how much you forget in just a few years -- I was doing the eat-wake-nap thing and sticking to good intervals between feedings, but had completely forgotten the most fundamental concept, which is to establish circadian rhythms by starting each day with a feeding at the same time. Now that we've started doing that consistently, he's stopped feeding every two hours at night and has gone to 3 and sometimes four hour stretches. I am starting to feel we're back to two steps forward, one step back, instead of the other way around.

I am feeling even more motivated to get him sleeping through the night after the horrible night we had Saturday. After a long but basically good day keeping up with both Henry and Dean while Matthew had a wedding (it rained all day so Henry and I played Simon Says, read books, and built a fort in the dining room out of sheets and pillows and chairs), I had a massive migraine. Advil did nothing, so an hour later I tried the Imitrex my neuologist recently prescribed. By the time Matthew came to bed at 12:30 am, the pain had woken me up and was so bad I was nauseous. So I took a Vicodin -- anhour later the pain had gone from a 10 to a 9, so I took another. I was worried about nursing the baby with all those drugs in my system, so I had to pump-and-dump twice while Matthew gave Dean his first bottle (with stored breastmilk) since he was four days old. It was an all nighter for me and Matthew. At seven a.m., I called my mom and like an angel she appeared at our door and helped with the boys throughout the day so we could nap here and there.

I'm convinced that weeks of interrupted sleep is the culprit (tho my breastfeeding-guru OB did inform me today that I don't need to pump just b/c I take a Vicodin, and the pediatrician agreed, so that's one less thing). I know from experience with Henry the difference a regular schedule of feedings and routine can make in terms of sleeping through the night, so I am continuing to push with the schedule even though it has made things a little complicated with my sister Rachael in town. Luckily, she understands and has been really helpful, even coming over early this morning to take over watching Dean and Henry after the 7 a.m. feeding. Then she and Philip and Jane took Henry to the Insectarium. Matthew's little sister, Maddie, also came over today to meet Dean for the first time (she's been at college in NYC), so it was a busy day for our little social butterfly.

I am trying to maintain my perspective, though it erodes a little more with each delirious night. My early feelings of indecision and self-doubt have largely gone away as I've gotten more familiar with Dean's habits and patterns, likes and dislikes. It helps that I have the confidence gained from dealing with Henry's reflux and sleeplessness. I do still get frustrated, of course, but I know that Dean is healthy and getting happier each day, and I remember how so much of the early behaviors resolved themselves by the time he was three months and that "fourth trimester" was finally behind us. Right now I am just trying to keep my eyes -- my bleary, bloodshot, aching eyes -- on the prize.

Argh

Tired. So very tired. I feel like we are moving backward insteads of forward.

If I had had time to write this post yesterday, it would have had a very different tone. Anytime I can get a total of 7 or 8 hours of sleep between the hours of 10 pm and 10 am, with at least one stretch of 2.5 - 3 hours if Dean sleeps for 3.5 or 4, I feel like I can handle anything. My mood is happy, I have energy, I get things done around the house, I keep up with Henry, I usually even manage a brisk walk. Yesterday the weather was lovely, I returned books to the library and then walked along the levee with Dean in the baby carrier on my chest. And there must have been another good night this week, because I remember I took Henry on his bike with us for a long walk and we had such a good time, talking to neighbors, smelling the flowers, enjoying the sunshine.

But days like today I just want to cry. I did manage to get some sleep, but it went something like this: nurse Dean at 10 pm, hold him upright for 15 minutes so he doesn't spit up everywhere, get him down and get myself into bed by 11 pm. Wake up to Dean crying at 12:45 am. Nurse him, fall in and out of sleep with him in chair until 1:45 am, get Matthew to help putting him back to sleep. Wake up to Dean crying at 2:45 am. Try to get him to go back to sleep, no go, nurse him, swaddle him to go back to bed -- his eyes fly open. And stay open. I am in tears by 3:30 am so Matthew takes him and Dean spends the next hour and half spitting up, over and over, until he finally conks out at 5 am. Wake up to Dean crying at 7:00 am (so he managed to go for four hours between feedings, but DID NOT SLEEP for half of that). Take care of him and Henry until 8:00, wake Matthew up to take Henry to school. At that point Mom came over to relieve us, so I went back to sleep for a few hours. Now Matthew is getting his turn.

And so it has gone for at least half the nights for the past week or so. Some nights are good -- he goes between 2.5 and 3.5 hours between feedings, and goes back to sleep pretty easily so I am back in bed within 45 minutes. But those nights are seeming fewer, when they should be becoming more regular. There is simply no pattern, and we are now at almost 7 weeks. I've been doing all the babywise scheduling/routine stuff during the day (not easy with a reflux baby), we have a nighttime routine, we keep the room darkened and don't interact during nighttime feedings, but -- still no predictability yet. And it is not only exhausting, it gets me depressed. I have to start working again in a little over a month -- I know that's a third of his life so far and newborns can change so much in that much time, but a part of me just panics that it will still be like this at that point, and I don't see how I can function.

I don't like feeling like this -- I know I am fortunate to get as much sleep as I do, and to have my Mom close by to help, and to have a husband who works from home and doesn't seem to resent being woken up during the night to help me when I feel I've reached a breaking point. And I wouldn't mind some horrible nights if I felt it was two steps forward, one step back. But right now it feels like the reverse. And I am just...so...tired.

Five Weeks

Dean turned five weeks old on Monday. Five weeks, so many changes.

In no particular order (which is an apt description for my brain these days):

We are still working on the reflux/spit up/fussiness problem. We started him on Zantac, but I think the dosage may be low since we won't have his official weight until his check-up tomorrow. From what we can tell while he's squirming on the postage scale, he's at least nine pounds now. That's a pretty significant weight gain from his birth weight of 6 pounds 3 ounces, and it is one of the signs that he might just be getting too much milk, in the wrong balance. After he spit up about ten or twelve tablespoons immediately after eating this mid-morning, Matthew and I started googling and our latest theory, compliments of the Internet, is that I have an oversupply and he's getting too much foremilk, which makes him gassy, and he's getting too much milk overall, leading him to spit up copiously. He may also have acid reflux, which makes his burps and spit ups painful. But we'll see. Based on this latest theory, I now have to nurse him with him sitting straight up on my leg -- it's a very strange position, but I'll do whatever will work -- and can only nurse him on one side per feeding. We'll see how it goes, and what the doctor thinks tomorrow.

His sleeping at night is pretty good overall -- brilliantly good, compared with Henry at this age. But he likes to be awake in the middle of the night after his second feeding. I can usually last an hour and a half before I have to wake up Matthew, just so I don't risk nodding off while he's in my arms. I guess some would say one solution is to let him cry it out, but I am not only not desperate enough yet to put myself through that, but it would also take some advance planning to let Henry sleep elsewhere because there's no way he could sleep through the wailing. That's another interesting thing about Dean -- he has a temper. He is generally affable, but when he gets mad, he gets MAD. He can turn completely purple in seconds, screaming with such ferocity he momentarily stops breathing. Henry was generally fussier and thus cried more overall than Dean, but never could Henry's crying have matched the intensity of Dean's. The few times I've had to let him cry for a couple of minutes, while I scambled to get food for me and Henry and run to the bathroom, his crying was so intense I found myself in tears from the sheer torture of listening to it. In time, I will have to let him learn to comfort himself, I know -- but for now, while operating on so little sleep and still trying to figure out why he spits up so much and seems in agony after most feedings, I'm going to avoid that battle.

A good friend with a first baby not much older than Dean asked me recently if it was easier with the second baby. I've had some more time to think about that since our conversation, and I still can't say the verdict is decisive one way or another. In some ways, it is so much easier -- I am not afraid of Dean the way I was afraid of Henry. Well, afraid of the baby is not really accurate -- I suppose I was afraid of myself handling the baby. I didn't feel adequate at comforting him, nursing was difficult and confusing, and I had no idea when the sleepless nights would end. Matthew and I also were unpracticed at being parents together. He said himselkf recently that it's easier this time because instead of getting mad when Dean cries, he is more inclined to laugh. With Henry, everything felt so overwhelming, laughter was the farthest thing from our minds. (Which is interesting, considering that Henry now provides us with so much humor in the midst of our stress -- last week, he was playing ball with Matthew and said, "I'm keeping my eyes on the ball, but my hands are not agropalating...I don't know how to say that word." Yesterday he was treated to ice cream with a friend after school and came home to tell us he had had "Bumpy Road" ice cream). Henry also slept so erratically that I think we were both more sleep deprived at this point. I'm not sure if it is Dean's temperament or our attempts at scheduling and routine (probably both), but when I put DEan down for a nap, MOST of the time (3 a.m. feedings notwithstanding) he stays asleep for at least an hour and half. Henry's sleeping was completely unpredictable and it made us literally a little out of our minds.

In other ways, the second baby is harder, mostly because of the first! Henry is a terrific help - he adores Dean and is quick to assist if I ask him to retrieve a pacifier or burp cloth or let Dinah out if I don't have a free hand. And he is remarkably understanding of the fact that Matthew and I can't always respond to him immediately like we could before the baby arrived. But he is still a four year old, and a boy, and his energy can be really draining by the end of the day. He's a little more sensitive these days, and he's testing the boundaries. Some days he's downright obstinate and flip all day and it takes everything not to scream. But most of the time he's the same happy Henry, and the biggest challenge then is just juggling both of them, especially when Dean is awake and refuses to be put down. Mom has been a big help when Matthew has a wedding, and Matthew is also home and can help a great deal, but he still has weddings to process and a bathroom to finish and is running most of the errands these days, so it's just me a lot of the time. When I manage to bake banana bread from scratch with Henry while holding Dean, I feel like Superwoman. When I can't seem to get a cup of yogurt for Henry or remember to go to the bathroom while holding a spitting up Dean and the laundry is piling up all around us, I feel like a failure. So it all depends on the day, the hour, the minute.

We have had some memorable experiences lately. Mardi Gras was only one day for us this year, but we made it a good one, watching Thoth on Magazine with Bee and Foster and my Mom and some friends. I was glad Dean's first public outing was to a parade. On Mardi Gras itself, we actually went to Baton Rouge to introduce Dean to my grandfather, the original Kaarlo, and to see Bee and Foster, and then to my godparents' house out on the levee road outside of Baton Rouge. It was a long day, but a great one. We got some video of my grandfather speaking in Finnish to Dean, and Henry got to tear around with Foster, and then he and his Daddy had a great time on the four-wheeler out in the country while I got to catch up with my Nana'an. This past Sunday we celebrated PawPaw's 80th birthday on the Northshore and watched the Mardi Paws parade. Henry got to jump in a space walk and explore the shores of the lake, which was quite low, and Dean was held by pretty much every family member, which gave my shoulders a rest. We feel so fortunate to love close to so much family. My boys are always surrounded by so much love and affection.

Now Henry is home from school and I can hear Dean squawking in his crib, so it is time to get a snack for H-bomb, change a diaper, and continue the nursing experiment.

things i think at 5 a.m.

Blue pearlescent light sliding
Underneath the shade.
Soft tug of sleep at my eyelids,
Fierce crying in my arms.
Milky air rising;
Pain passing;
Peace.

Tiny head smelling like
Oatmeal
The way Mama, my mama, makes it:
Warm, creamy, brown sugar and butter.
Sweet oatmeal baby,
Like mama:
Asleep
With eyes open.

To sleep, perchance to...oh, nevermind

I keep waiting for time to compose a nice, well-thought out post, but that's apparently not going to happen, so I figure I better just dive in and write whatever I can while I have few minutes.

Dean is still doing very well. Now that he's filling out, the suspect vertebra is less pronounced. And he's starting to get that cute little wrist cleavage that I just love on babies. Breastfeeding is going well in the sense that he nurses well and often and he's gainig weight, but it is also driving me crazy in that there are so many variables involved it is hard to tell what may be making him fussy. My migraines are returning unfortunately, probably because of interrupted sleep and general lack thereof, so I have been experimenting with different levels of caffeine and trying to track any patterns, but doing so is only making me more anxious. He also started spitting up slightly more than is probably normal, so I tried nursing a little differently but that seemed to result in green poop, so I went back to my old ways but am still having trouble minimizing the spit up. Because Henry had reflux, we are on watch to see if Dean develops the symptoms, but right now he's borderline -- happy about half the time and fussy the other half - whereas his big brother was fussy pretty much nonstop until we put him on medication. Argh. What I find most daunting about motherhood in these early stages, even more than the terrible sleeplessness, is the sense of responsibility for EVERYTHING. If he wakes up a half hour after going down, is it because I didn;t get a good burp out of him? Should I nurse him only on one breast so the balance of foremilk/hindmilk is the same? Or stick with what worked with Henry? If I nurse him at 8:30 pm, should that be his "nighttime routine feed" with lights low and everything quiet or is it okay to watch TV and let Henry run around wild? Is is bad for him to have green poop? If I have to take my migraine medicine, will my milk run low? Should I be trying harder to get him into the Babywise routine, even though he still resists waking up about half the time I try? Am I consuming too much dairy, is that why he fusses?

What gets lost in all this ridiculous analysis and agonizing is the fact that Dean is healthy, growing, happy most of the time, and today, HE SMILED. Real, genuine smiles. You just know it's real when you see it, when he locks eyes with you and that grin starts, it's like a jolt of electricity and you think, oh yes, THIS is why I am doing all of this. I can't wait to Henry to get a good one out of him.

Speaking of Henry, he's doing great. I am so proud of him, he's helpful and gentle and has shown amazing maturity during this transition. I wish I could remember right now some of the cute things he's been saying lately, but my memory is so foggy these days.

Last night Matthew and I spent our first moments alone together out in the world since Dean's birth -- we went a few blocks away for one of the Mexican prix fixe dinners at Aunt Leni's Cafe. It was so lovely to be the two of us, knowing our boys were close by with Mom watching them. Our neighborhood is great for that. Today Henry and Dean and I walked down to the library, also just a few blocks away. It's nice that my first ventures out with him can be in such a safe, comfortable, close environment.

Anyway, time for his NINTH feeding of the day. Then, to bed...hopefully.

Welcome, Dean Kaarlo!

Dean Kaarlo Foster was supposed to be born today, But instead he decided to come eight days early.

I had trouble sleeping all through the weekend before he arrived. Sunday night was the worst, with contractions coming every four to six minutes and becoming uncomfortable, but still not what I would have considered real labor. I tried taking a bath, drinking lots of water, watching TV at 4 am, nothing worked. Because I was scheduled for a c-section, the labor and delivery nurses said to come in and be checked. We threw some things in the half-packed suitcase and called Mom to watch Henry. We arrived at the hospital around 6:30 am. Within an hour I went from apologizing for bothering anyone with what surely was not real labor to being stuck with IV needles (four times since my veins kept collapsing) and wheeled into the surgical suite. The contractions had gotten stronger just since we had been at the hospital and they detected variability on the baby's heart rate monitor (don't they always?), so my doc said, you're ready, let's do it today. I told her those were the best words I had heard throughout the whole pregnancy, but in truth by the time I was getting the spinal, I was feeling terrified. With Henry, I was so ready after 30 hours of mostly natural labor to GET HIM OUT I was too tired to be afraid. But suddenly I fet it was all happening too fast, I was too aware, too nervous. Matthew asked if he had time to get his camera from the car and the nurse said curtly, "NO." So the only pictures of the birth my professional photographer husband was able to take were on my work PDA. At least we had that!

Within 30 minutes, I got to hear my sweet boy's cries, and goodness were they loud. He weighed 6 pounds 3.5 ounces, just a few shy of Henry's birth weight, and was 18.5 inches long, one half-inch shorter than his older brother. And they look so much alike as newborns! He had to be taken to the nursery for free flow oxygen for about half an hour, so except for a few brief joyfully teary moments in the surgery suite, it was another hour or so before I saw him again. We had to complain to the hospital management about the fact that they wouldn't allow Matthew in the nursery with him -- with Henry he got to hold his little hands and talk to him the whole time, but at this hospital they said parents in the nursery was against policy. BAD POLICY. But then he was brought to me in the recovery room, right after I got some newfangled anesthesia procedure called TAP -- medicine injected straight into the incision site to help with the first day's pain (and it did). The lactation consultant came in with him and Matthew and I were both so happy to see it was the same nurse who had helped us with Henry when he was born at Baptist four years before. We felt comfortable with her immediately and Dean took to nursing like a champ. Then I was taken to my hospital room.

The rest of the first day is a bit of a blur, with visitors in and out and him sleeping pretty much all day in the bassinet in our room. Nursing continued to go pretty well, though between the drugs and the oxytocin from breastfeeding I was pretty delirious. Henry was able to be with us for most of the day and he seemed genuinely thrilled with his little brother. I gave him a bag with "presents from Dean" and that kept him occupied in the room, and my Mom took him to a kid's play area whenever he got bored. That night he slept with Mom and Dean slept peacefully all night long in our room, which meant we slept, too. The next day started out just as well, but they told us Dean had lost "a significant amount of weight." Some weight loss is normal in the first week but of course it was terrifying to be told he had lost more than 10%. The lactation consultant came back and we did a refresher course on nursing. I was used to nursing a ten month old, and newborns require a bit more finesse. But I felt once I had figured it out, he would do better. Unfortunately, as the day went on he fussed more and more, and I was feeling like a failure. That night, he would not let us put him down. He would eat and then as soon as we placed him in the bassinet he would wail. We could quiet him by picking him up, and he slept in the bed with me for part of the night, but severing contact was impossible and neither Matthew nor I could sleep. In desperation we permitted him to be taken to the nursery for a couple of hours and we both dozed. (The nurses swore he slept fine in the nursery and didn't cry, but I never know whether to believe them). Matthew and I were very worried that he was going to be like Henry in this regard, whom we once clocked as sleeping 3 hours in a 24 hour span -- and those waking hours were not happy hours for him. (Henry had reflux and once we got this under control he was happy as a clam, but those first six weeks were nightmarish). The next day, Wednesday, his weight had dropped even more and the lactation consultants and nurses were starting to talk about formula supplementation because my milk had not yet come in. Even though it had been just two days since the surgery, Matthew and I decided to push for being discharged. The same doom and gloom scenarios had accompanied Henry's last days in the hospital with us (we were there for five days post-birth), and once we got home, my milk came in and everything was fine. I felt sure it would be the same this time. So we accepted some formula supplements and a plan to give him a little after each nursing, in exchange for being allowed to leave early.

It was so nice to be home! Bob stayed and had dinner with us (Dean dozed in his baby swing the whole meal) and helped us get settled. That night is kind of a blur, but I think Matthew and I took shifts so that we would both get some sleep. I think I slept in the recliner at one point with Dean on my chest, and at one point I think he slept in bed with us. But he went four hours sleeping at one point, and we were so in love with him for that!

Thursday was a good day -- we weighed him on Matthew's postage scale and he was definitely gaining weight. My milk was starting to come in, and that night we discontinued the formula. Matthew's Mom and sister Bee came with Henry's cousin Foster to visit and although I was still in a lot of pain from the surgery, I was able to walk around and really enjoy the visit. Plus, it was great for Henry to have some play time with Foster. Henry went to school the two days after Dean's birth, but then we kept him home the remainder of the week because the school reported an outbreak of lice. As if taking care of a newborn wouldn't be hard enough, we couldn't imagine doing it while fighting an infestation of lice. Overall I think it was good for Henry to be home with us for four days straight, though it did wear us out a little. Mom and MawMaw and PawPaw helped keep him occupied and give him the one-on-one attention that he really needed, and he had a chance to get used to having a tiny baby around the house and learning how to help out (he's really good at inducing reflex smiles, which are almost as much fun as the real thing).

Friday was not so good -- I was frustrated that I was still having so much pain, not just at the incision site but throughout my whole abdomen. Plus I was still swollen everywhere and finding it difficult to get comfortable. I was so proud that when I went home after having Henry I was able to stop the narcotic medicine cold turkey -- no such luck this time. I found out I had to have a scar revision on top of the c-section, so it makes sense that the recovery this time was taking longer. But it turns out the resident who dicharged me didn't even prescribe me enough pain medicine (accoridng to my OB), so while I was feeling like a drug addict for still needing the meds, in fact I was due for another two or three days of them. Nevertheless, I've weaned myself down to advil during the day and only take the narcotic at night, because I simply can't sleep from the distraction of the pain. Friday Matthew also had a wedding, so Mom came to help out with the boys. She's been such a help throughout all of this, especially with Henry. She spent the night with us that night, since Matthew didn't get in until after 1 a.m.

Over the weekend we kind of fell into a nice pattern -- Dean nurses eight or nine times a day, but he's pretty efficient at it, at least when he's not falling asleep. And he sleeps a LOT -- if I hadn't already paid my dues with Henry and been rassured by the pediatrician that Dean's sleep habits are normal, I would actually be concerned. He's remarkably predictable and affable. When he cries, it's always for some easily identifable reason -- belly aches or diaper changes or hunger -- and he can be comforted within seconds. And until last night (which we are hoping was a fluke) he generally goes one 3.5 to 4 hour stretch during the night without waking for a feeding (the rest of the night we set alarms to wake us up to feed him in case he sleeps right through -- amazing).

On Sunday afternoon we became concerned about a knot on his spine. It was something I had felt before but honestly, since we've been keeping him so bundled up due to the cold weather, I had thought it was just a bunching in his clothes. We had him stripped down at one point Sunday and had a chance to really examine his back -- right in the middle there is one vertabra that sticks out much more than the others. We felt Henry's back and he has something similar in the same spot but not nearly as pronounced. So on Monday we took him to the pediatrician, who examined him carefully and said, "Well, I agree with you." "Do you mean you agree with us that we are overreacting?" "No," she said, "I agree with you that it's not completely normal." "Oh."

So off we rushed to Children's Hospital for an x-ray of our one week-old baby. I'm sure the care there is wonderful, but it's a terrifying place. Nothing makes you doubly grateful for the good health of your children than being surrounded by families and kids who know that's one thing they don't have. But within minutes of the x-ray, our pediatrician called and said the radiologist said everything looks normal -- no growth, no internal problems, the spine looks fine. I'll never forget the kiss Matthew and I shared upon hearing that news. We still have to watch him as he develops and both of us still feel nervous that something's just not right -- the vertebra is REALLY pronounced -- but at least we know it's nothing life threatening. And of course, if anything does turn out to be wrong I will always feel it is my fault because of having to take Vicodin during the pregnancy and generally subjecting him to so many stress hormones in utero. Throughout the agony of each migraine, that was my greatest pain, worrying that I would cause him permanent harm, despite all my doctors' reassurances.

But we'll cross that bridge when and if we come to it. For now, he is a happy, healthy little guy, a tiny human inducing feelings of unbelievable depth -- love, of course, but also gratitude and adoration and even a bit of sadness. Right now, eight days out, it is hard to distinguish the genuine feelings from the hormonal roller coaster I am riding post-partum, but I am finding myself startlingly sad that this will likely be my last newborn. I never had the luxury of feeling that way with Henry, even though I spent the first year of his life finding it impossible to imagine being pregnant again. Henry was simply so demanding with his reflux and sleeplessness that required us to carry him on our bodies almost all day and night that I simply never had the opportunity to DESIRE to hold him -- he was already physically attached to my sleep-deprived body most of the time. But Dean sleeps so much and is so peaceful even when awake, I find myself overwhelmed with the desire to hold him and cuddle him and talk to him. Even in the middle of the night, I don't mind the loss of sleep because it is a chance to hold that tiny warm little body and smell the sweet newness of his scalp and touch the tenderness of his cheeks. I know that I am going to have to work out my true feelings about the decision not to become pregnant again (all it takes is remembering the fear and depression brought on by the migraines, see above, to renew my belief that going through that again would not be wise) but for now I am just riding the roller coaster, crying tears of joy and grief as they come.

One moment stands out: yesterday as I was sitting on the sofa having finished nursing Dean, Henry came and sat with us. I asked him if he wanted to hold Dean. No, he said, I just want to watch you hold him. I think he had felt nervous all week about how fragile the baby looks. A few moments later, as Dean was snoozing soundly on my chest, I told Henry that since he was sitting right next to me and Dean was all curled up and sleeping, it would be a perfect time to hold him on his belly. "Okay," he said. So I put him on Henry's chest and belly, and there they were, my two boys, one astounding me with his maturity and adaptability during this major transition, the other captivating me with his delicate newness, and the two of them together a force so strong as to suck my breath away for a brief, beuatiful moment.

Waiting

I am so ready for this baby to be born. I am trying to recognize how fortunate I am to have a set delivery date -- only ten days to go, if not sooner. But now that sleep is a long lost memory, I walk like an eighty-year old (and not one of those hip ones that power walks in the senior olympics), I have constant heartburn, and am starting to believe I will never not be pregnant, I AM READY.

At least I stopped going in to the office last week. This past week I worked some from home, but I've wrapped up my outstanding projects and there's not much I have energy for right now except lying on my side and watching TV. Even blogging requires a mental energy I can't seem to muster, hence the absence from the blog. Most days I feel pretty calm and prepared, but I still have moments of panic and despair, usually brought on my a sleepless night, when I think I will never be able to handle the coming sleeplessness, breastfeeding fatigue, and guilt from trying to be a good mother to a newborn and a four year old. I recognize the irrationality of these fears, but that doesn't necessarily mean I can always shake them. It's like being possessed sometimes. I am so looking forward to feeling like myself again. Even with the exhaustion and baby blues after Henry was born, I never once wished to be pregnant again, and I am assuming I will feel the same way this time.

Still, it is hard to gear up for being under seige again. That's what having an newborn felt like -- as much as I loved him and cooed over him and was in thrall to his every blink and breath, after we brought Henry home from the hospital it felt like our home had been invaded and we were holding up under an intense battle with tiredness and irritability and the struggle to figure out how to keep him from crying (his acid reflux played a huge role, as did my trouble nursing at first). Then, after about a month as we become more accustomed to each other and developed a rudimentary predictability to our days and nights, it felt like the battle was over and we were under occupation by a benevolent but utterly irrational dictator. Only after three months, when his smiles were constant, his sleeping was predictable and longer, and I had the energy to soak in the sheer joy of him, did I feel like we had emerged from the war a family intact. I can only hope this little guy won't have reflux and that some of the tricks we learned with Henry to get him sleeping through the night and nursing well will serve us this time around.

Another reason I was so glad to be home this past week was that Matthew and I got to watch the inauguration together. We pretty much camped out on the couch all day, taking it all in. When Bush boarded the helicopter and waved goodbye, we poured ourselves some contraband champagne and clinked glasses. Woo-hoo, we got our country back. I shed some tears during the day, but it wasn't until the first dance at the first ball that night that we both really lost it. I realize the dangers of projecting onto this man and his family all our unrealistic hopes and expectations...but for just a few moments, it felt like time was suspended and we could allow ourselves to simply feel love and pride and affection for these two beautiful people who obviously love each other and who I firmly believe love this country and will do great things for it.

Henry came home from school that day with a fever, so he and I snuggled under a blanket to watch the parade on TV. He had been able to watch the swearing in at school -- I didn't realize they even HAD a TV at his school -- and he told me, "When Barack Obama became President, I told the girl sitting next to me [whispering] 'That's my guy!'" It was a real Angela Lansbury-Manchurian Candidate moment for us. He also explained to us that, "George Bush flew away and he's never coming back." I was perhaps most touched when he told me, "Mommy, I will always remember watching Barack Obama today." I sincerely hope that's true.

Henry just got moved from his "pre-primary" class to the primary level (Montessori groups them by skill level rather than age alone). I was a little worried at first, just because he has so many changes coming and has already seemed a little emotionally fragile lately, I'm sure picking up on my own melancholia. But after some initial hesitation about leaving his friends and not knowing the "big kids", he has made the transition beautifully. The new class is only a doorway removed from the old class, and he still sees all his old friends at recess and rides to and from school with his favorite chum, so I think that helps. He's very proud of all the new things he gets to do -- fix his own snack at snacktime, use "lots of different paint pots" at art time, and he no longer has to take naps, which, as he told us and his teacher multiple times lately, "is not my best thing." Tomorrow I plan to take him to a sibling prep class at the hospital -- he seems as ready as a kid can be to become a big brother, and hopefully visiting the hospital will help alleviate the few fears I know he has about my being okay. We're all just taking deep breaths these days, waiting and hoping for a healthy little baby to come...any old time now would be fine with me.

Happy New Year

We had a lovely holiday season and now I am quite over it and ready to focus on trying to get life ready for this baby, who is due to arrive in barely more than a month. But first I want to reflect for a few moments on some of the Christmas memories. Henry just loved Christmas this year. It just keeps getting more fun, seeing it through his eyes as those eyes get older and more inquisitive. The tree was beautiful, the jumbo colored lights on the house were great, the presents all came together, the advent calendar worked out, the Nutcracker was beautiful, the carols chiming from the courthouse each hour were delightful, the snow was memorable, the Christmas cookies were delicious, and Henry's face Christmas morning was marvelous. Perhaps our favorite part was his reaction to gifts that he had not specifically asked for in his letter to Santa. His happy surprise at receiving these unexpected gifts was expressed most eloquently as he exclaimed with amazement, "Mommy, this is something I NEVER wanted!!!"

We made the trek to Baton Rouge for another rendition of Oivanki Christmas, and I am really glad we did. My grandfather, whose joy in Christmas with his six kids and countless grandchildren and now numerous great-grandchildren has kept this tradition going even after the loss of my dear sweet Aiti, has not been doing well. We had the gathering at his assisted living center, and it was great to see my cousins and aunts and uncles and to see Henry playing with his own second cousins. Then we stopped by Rachel and Joel's for a nice dose of quiet catching up. Then it was back to NOLA for gumbo at Mom's with Rachael and Jane and Philip and opening our Cannon family gifts.

The next day we drove to Mandeville for Christmas with Matthew's family. Maddie was in town from NYC and Bee was there with Henry's counsin Foster - those two were inseparable. Watching them run around buck naked after their bath was priceless. I look forward to the day when all four cousins -- the two boys already here and the two on their way -- can all be together at once, though I suspect all the rest of us will need some Valium.

The weekend after Christmas was quieter -- Matthew planned a break from weddings. He's not spending the time in a bath drinking cabernet, however; he's instead racing the gestational clock to get our master bathroom and closet finished. Yesterday at Lowe's the checkout girl asked when I was due and truly did not seem to believe me when I said I have another month to go. Part of me is ready for this baby to be here, outside of my body. And part of me is glad we still have a month. My feelings generally depend on how I slept the night before -- nights like last night, when my hips ached and I woke up in pain every two hours, I figure he might as well be here if I am not going to sleeping anyway. But when I get a good night's sleep I am so grateful I still have some time to buy a new car seat, finish going through the hand me downs from Henry and friends, and cherish this last little bit of time with Henry as the "only."

All in all I would have to say the past year was very difficult and I am glad 2008 is behind us. When I think of the emotional stress of trying to get pregnant, the misery of five months of near-daily migraines, and the chaos of ongoing renovations to the house, I can't help but think that 2009 will be better. On the other hand, I also recognize all the great things we accomplished in 2008 -- I did in fact get pregnant with an apparently healthy baby, we do love our house even in its unfinished state, and even the physical challenges of the pregnancy had a silver lining in that they forced me to retrain my coping skills and remember my priorities. I actually feel a sense of peace and gratitude now that 2009 is underway. I am so blessed by family and friends and the chance to be a mother to a second baby, I see no point in drafting any resolutions this year, except to keep appreciating what I already have.

My Sweet Boy

Last night I crawled into Henry's bed while he was sleeping. He shifted in slumber and inadvertently wrapped an arm around my neck. So I did the only thing I could possibly do and just cried and cried.

It's not that I was particularly unhappy. In fact, I've felt better overall the past few weeks than I have felt almost since the beginning of the pregnancy (last week's stomach flu not included). I haven't had a headache in over two weeks - prior to this, the longest I had gone since June was four days. I've been less depressed, probably because of the distraction of Christmas preparations and the fact that the delivery date is now only seven weeks away. I've been sleeping a little bit better.

So I'm not sure what triggered my emotions, but lying there with his soft head inches from mine, the mutterings of a dream on his lips, I was just so filled with love and fear that I couldn't help crying. I never cease to be amazed at his healthiness. Almost as amazing to me is his grasp of happiness. Not that he doesn't have his moments (and the last week has actually been rather challenging, with a lot of mood swings, tears, and defiance), but his general temperament is one of joy in being alive. He wakes up happy and goes to bed happy. He's been growing at a rapid pace over the past month or so, physically and emotionally. His desire to understand the world has led to some conversations I wasn't quite prepared to have ("Mommy, how does God make us?" "Do you think that's really true that Jesus is in heaven with God?" "How many babies are you going to have?"). His conversational skills are so impressive I often forget he's only four and doesn't need an encylopedia entry for an answer.

I guess some of my tears were for the changes I know are coming for him when this baby arrives. I have no doubt that he is going to be a terrific brother. I know he will relish being looked up to, providing an example, teaching his baby brother things, and no longer being the only one in the house getting told what to do. But there's also no doubt it's going to be a big emotional adjustment for him, since he's had four years as the "only." I sense a slipping away of a protective film that has coated his little life, as he knew exactly where he fit in to our family, and by extension, the world. I know it's a protection that never lasts for any child, and I know it's an important growing opportunity for him. But I still feel bittersweet about it. I feel like I'm hiding something from him by not letting him know how tumultuous those first few months are going to be -- but how could I? I could no more prepare myself for it before having him than I could possibly explain what's coming to a four year old. He'll rise to the occasion, of course. But in the meantime, I find myself holding on to him, physicially and emotionally, more and more as these days count down, appreciating his goofy sense of humor, his unflagging energy, his pride in all the new things he can do on his own, and the innocent joy with which he shares all of it with me.

Christmas Memories in the Making

Last weekend Henry and I went to see The Nutcracker. He really enjoyed it, though he got a bit squirmy at the end during the Waltz of the Flowers and the endless (from a four-year old's eyes) pas de deux. I am hoping it can be a new Christmas tradition for the two of us. I loved seeing it as a child, and was in it (as was Matthew) one year, but I wasn't sure if he would be into it.

Watching it and remembering my own childhood memories of the Christmas season got me thinking about our own family's traditions. It's hard for me to believe, but this is Henry's fourth Christmas, so it occurred to me that over these years we may have come up with some traditions of our own. In addition to the familiar ornaments and decorations I know he will come to recognize over the years, I know that he already looks forward to unpacking the Hallmark piano-playing snowman we received from my aunt a few years ago. And for the past two years we have bought our Christmas tree at the neighborhod sale to benefit our branch library -- that seems like a worthy tradition in the making. This year I decided to start what I hope will be some new ones. We're wrapping presents in kraft paper and Henry gets to decorate the outsides with Christmas stamps. We finally got an advent calendar, with reusable stickers so he can count down to the big day. We went to Mandeville for the Christmas parade and tree lighting in front of Pa and Dellie's house on the lafefront. And we've been watching lots and lots of Christmas movies, everything from Mickey's Christmas Carol to the Grinch Stole Christmas, Elf, and Frosty the Snowman. Last night, after our day trip to Mandeville, I turned on It's a Wonderful Life. I was fully prepared for him to be bored stiff, but he was riveted and the two of us (Matthew had a wedding) stayed up late watching it, curled up under a blanket on the sofa. I had to explain why I was crying at the end -- it gets me every year.

This past week we had a surprise that I doubt will become a tradition but that I hope he'll rememebr for a long time -- snow! Henry woke me up about an hour before he was supposed to go to school, saying, "Mommy, wake up, it's snowing!" I couldn't believe it and was expecting to see that drizzly pathetic frozen rain they sometimes call "wintry mix" down here. But no -- there were actually big, fluffy white flakes drifting down over the houses and cars and flowers. At first they melted as soon as they touched ground, but by schooltime they were falling thick and starting to stick and Matthew and Henry even made snowballs. I sort of wish we had kept him home from school, but there was still some stuck to the windshields in the afternoon and he made the tiniest snowman in history when he got home. I ran inside to get his mittens and hat -- we only use them once a year so it's not like we have them hanging by the door or anything -- whipped up some hot chocolate, and took pictures of Henry and Matthew chasing each other with snowballs. It felt odd, kind of like we were suddenly Yankees...but wonderful.

We had another event that I'm hoping he may not remember -- on another morning this week, I awoke to Matthew shouting, "Fuck!" This not being something we say often in our house anymore, I jumped out of bed. "What happened?" I asked. With big eyes, Henry said, "The tree fell down THREE TIMES and all your ornaments are broken, Mommy." Luckily, it wasn't quite that bad, but our tree was looking rather forlorn for the rest of the day -- propped against the wall, lights askew, half the ornaments missing and the others scattered in pieces on the floor, it looked like she'd been partying hard and was just waking up with a terrible hangover and asking apologetically, "Did...I do all that?"

Thanksgiving List

I am thankful for many things this Thanksgiving. Here's a smattering, in no particular order:

I am thankful that I only got up four times during the night last night, which counts as a good night's rest these days.
I am thankful for my sister, Jane.
I am thankful for my sister, Rachael, and for the fact that she is currently napping at my house, rather than at hers in Austin.
I am thankful that Henry's baby brother will be arriving in ten weeks.
I am thankful for Henry -- for the way he asks politely, "How do you know?" after his father and I assert anything, for the way he sings Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer, for how he is blossoming at his new school, for the way he calls to me when he is taking his bath and asks me to come in because "I'm lonely...."
I am thankful for our friends and neighbors and this lovely neighborhood where I can hear the horns of the ships on the river from my living room.
I am thankful that I have not had a severe headache in almost five days.
I am thankful for Matthew.
I am thankful that I have a job.
I am thankful that I have a mortgage I can afford.
I am thankful that it has been warmer and humid here for the past two days, something my nasal passages greatly appreciate.
I am thankful for the lovely day we spent at the racetrack yesterday, and the turkey dinners we enjoyed the night before and in the evening.
I am thankful for Barack Obama.
I am thankful for my mother's cranberry sauce, which tastes exactly the way my grandmother, Aiti, always made it.
I am thankful for online shopping so I don't have to spend the seventh month of my pregnancy in traffic and long lines.
I am thankful for Drew Brees.