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Tuesday, August 31st, 2010
Today Ruby is three months old. In 92 days, she has grown about 4.5 pounds and almost 4 inches. She’s on the verge of outgrowing 3 months clothes and size 1 diapers. She has deliciously chubby thighs; long, dark lashes totally unlike my and her dad’s stubby, pale ones; a new forest of light brown fuzz on her head. She smiles frequently, chats copiously (especially if you echo her ah-goos and spitty ah-gggggs), laughs and squeals occasionally. When we get up in the morning, she yells good-naturedly as we walk through the house, as if announcing, “Here I am!”
She watches cartoons, wrestles with her blankie and tries to stuff it in her mouth, chews on fingers (her own and ours), swivels her head from side to side to take in all the sights as we carry her around, tries to sit up in our arms, soaks the whole world in her drool, and escapes from her swaddle with maddening ease.
She loves going outside, looking at ceiling fans (unfortunately we have none), taking baths, kicking her legs vigorously, riding in the Moby wrap, and sitting in the Bumbo seat. She loathes coming back in from outside, riding in cars, napping, and being ignored for even a moment.
She has many nicknames - Angel, Sweet Girl, Chatty Rue, Miss Demanding, Fussypants. Her favorite songs are “Henry the VIII” (which makes her smile) and “You Are My Sunshine” (which makes her sleepy).
She makes me blissfully happy - I got a fortune cookie at a Japanese restaurant this weekend that said, “Your dearest dream will come true,” and I immediately thought, “It already has.” - but every day I’m still very ready for D to get home and take her off my hands for a while.
In just three months, my whole life has changed. Most of it is good, great even - when I pick her up after some time apart, I feel a warmth spreading in my stomach just like falling in love; we actually save more money than before because I have no time to shop and no desire for much of anything; we laugh more; our extended family has grown closer. The few bad parts - less time together for me and D; less time for work and for the animals; and the stress of being the primary caregiver for such a needy, sleep-hating little thing - are worth it entirely every time her tiny lips form a gorgeous smile, or adorable pout, for that matter.
It’s hard to believe three months have already passed together and that in just this amount of time more, she’ll be six months old. It’s harder to believe that it’s been only a year since the unpleasant events of last summer and to remember what it felt like to want this so bad and to be hopeless. Now there is nothing but hope, for all the wonderful things my girl will do and become.
posted by K | filed under Oh Baby | 1 Comment
Friday, July 30th, 2010
Ruby seems to be having a growth spurt in the learning department. A few days ago, she figured out how to move her hand into range of her mouth and keep it there long enough to enjoy some sucking. Her coordination still isn’t great, so she gets frustrated with it after a few minutes, but we often hear the telltale smacking sound coming from her car seat or hammock, and she’ll be there sucking on her fist or even - for a few moments - on her thumb.
And as we speak, Ruby is sitting in her vibrating seat, talking loudly to the animals on the toy bar. Just yesterday morning, she learned that kicking her legs hard against the edge of the seat would make the animals move, and she has spent many minutes entertaining herself in this manner since.
It was fascinating watching such a realization dawn on her face, so fascinating that I wanted more. I laid her in her baby gym with her foot near an upright bar, hoping she’d figure out that if she kicked it, all the toys above would shake. And within moments, she did. She kicked, and a rattle on the bar shook, and so she kicked again and again and again, harder and faster, clearly loving the noise and the movement. She smiled and cooed and semi-squealed at the toys above and herself in the mirror, until the mirror fell over from the jostling and landed on her because bad mommy didn’t think about the fact that she could wiggle herself close enough to it to get hit if it fell, and she cried and bad mommy picked her up and bounced her and singsonged “I’m sorry, angel” into her ear until she was okay again.
Another thing she is learning is that Mom and Dad = Yay! She’s becoming so much more social with her smiling. For example, last night I brought her into the kitchen with me, and she stayed focused and content playing in her vibrating seat the entire time I mixed and baked a batch of oatmeal chocolate cookies, but whenever I would step closer into her line of sight, her face would light up with a smile. Last night, D went to get her out of her hammock when we realized she was not planning to fall back to sleep, and as soon as he lifted her out, he was rewarded with a grin.
I have to tell you, as much as I adored her the first minute I saw her, the first week, the first month, I adore her so much more now at two months. Every day, she is getting sweeter, smarter, prettier, funnier. I can’t imagine what fun the next year, 10 years, forever is going to bring.
posted by K | filed under Oh Baby | 3 Comments
Wednesday, July 28th, 2010
My plan was to gain only 15 to 20 pounds during my pregnancy, because that’s what online charts told me a chunkier person such as myself should gain. But then the doctor never mentioned a number to aim for, and every time I went and had gained a little more, he said I was right on track. So with his approval and a steady diet of milkshakes and slushees (so much for that low-sugar diet I was aiming for, huh?), and a boost of water weight from swelling in the last two weeks, I gained 43 pounds by the end.
In the first week post-partum, I lost only 1 pound. One. pound. And I gave birth to a 9-pound baby! I was so swollen my ankles disappeared, and the tops of my feet looked like marshmallows zapped in the microwave.
But somewhere in the second week, the swelling magically disappeared, and I lost 19 pounds in two days. Two days! It was almost worth the misery of being swollen to get to have that cool, Biggest-Loser-esque weight loss experience once in my life.
Over the next couple of weeks, the rapid weight loss continued despite my continued enjoyment of milkshakes (and lately, 29th birthday cake), and I lost 10 more pounds. I had 14 more to go before I was back at pre-pregnancy weight, and I was already plotting another 15-pound loss after that to be at a more reasonable - yet maintainable - weight.
Hmmph. Though I’ve continued breastfeeding, the magical weight loss has ceased. I’m stuck here at about the weight I was last year before I went on a pre-10-year-reunion diet.
Last week, when I planned this post, I was going to say how, despite the extra belly flab (on top of the already-excessive flab of old) and the stretch marks (so many that if you laid them end to end they would reach the moon and back), I actually feel pretty okay about my body for once.
Before, this body was always letting me down, but now it has successfully grown a baby, given birth to said baby, and is providing all the food for the baby. Underneath the flab, it was stronger than I thought.
Not to mention I worry less about attractiveness when my baby seeks my face in a crowd, turns her head around to find me when someone else is holding her, and the mere sight of me stops her in mid-cry (which happened for the first time this morning). I couldn’t be too gross if she likes looking at me so much, right? (This theory ignores the fact that most of the time when she sees me I’m wearing no make-up and a stretched-out T-shirt and my hair is sticking up from rocking her in the recliner.)
All in all, appearance seems less important these days. Or at least, it did last week. Then came the inevitable day when I realized I have nothing to wear. I’ve always had those days every so often - when I try on everything in my closet, and everything looks hideous, and I feel fat and blobby and end up leaving the house grumpy, wearing the same thing I’ve worn 75 times that month.
But usually, that feeling goes away by the time I’m in the closet the next morning, and I realize - oh wait, I have 7 million shirts, 6 million pairs of pants, 5 million skirts, and 4 million dresses. I do, in fact, have stuff to wear.
The thing is, now I really don’t. I would continue wearing maternity clothes, but they’re all falling off me, and my clothes from last summer are almost all just a bit (or a lot) too snug in the belly region. And it’s been insanely hot, too, which makes me less amenable to wearing clothes that cut off my circulation. And - horror of horrors - I can’t wear any of my go-to dresses, because they don’t work for breastfeeding! AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH, NOOOOOOOOOOO!
I even got the SpaceBag full of formerly too-big clothes out from under the bed, thinking that would solve my problem. Um, no. Even my favorite pair of denim capris, which I’d shrunk out of last spring, are now too squeezy in the waist. SIGH.
So now I’m down to one pair of denim shorts that fit nicely on some days and feel too tight on others, two pairs of identical olive green shorts that I bought from Old Navy two years ago (and they’re actually falling off me to the point that I fear flashing the townspeople when my arms are full of baby and baby gear, so I might not be able to tug them up fast enough), and about six casual shirts, two of which I broke down and bought last week.
This isn’t a tragedy, I guess, since I work from home and wear paint-stained T-shirts and boxer shorts most of the time. But I do try to get to town at least a couple times a week because D has been working a lot of overtime, and being home alone with la infanta all the time would make me and her both slightly insane. (I swear, she gets as sick of this living room as I do.)
For our outings to grocery shop, scrapbook, go to movies (during which she stays with a positively giddy Granny), or watch True Blood with Aunt Kelly, I would like to have some clothes that aren’t either uncomfortably snug or require quick reflexes to keep them up. And would having just one or two flattering items be too much to ask?
The thing is, there are no clothes on planet earth that fit this description. I was already apple-shaped and hard to fit. Now I’m even MORE apple shaped. Awesome.
So last night as I lay in bed trying to go to sleep as fast as possible to maximize Ruby’s asleep time, I came to the conclusion that I’m going to have to actually start exercising and eating better, unpleasant as it is to contemplate after my now nearly 11-month break from discipline.
Actually, the exercise part doesn’t sound unpleasant, just difficult to squeeze into my day. I’m lucky if Ruby naps 30 minutes to an hour at a time, and then I’m frantically trying to do laundry, brush my teeth, eat lunch, take a shower, unload the dishwasher, and do some actual work. I can’t tell you when the last time I vacuumed was.
Where in all this do I fit a workout, which entails getting dressed in workout clothes, actually working out, then being too sweaty to do anything except jump in the shower? I could do it when D is here (and awake), but lately that’s only in 4-hour chunks, and in that time we have to eat a meal, I have to feed Ruby at least once, we squeeze in a smidge of togetherness, I try to finish some work and maybe grab a shower while he occupies Miss Demanding, and then he’s gone again.
I would love to take Ruby for a walk outside every day because she loves the outdoors, but it’s been 100 degrees and miserable all summer. The only exercise I get is jiggling her constantly (great for the biceps and shoulders!) and dancing her around the living room during So You Think You Can Dance.
Other moms manage to do this, though, so maybe there’s something I’m missing. How do I do it? How do I get back in shape?
posted by K | filed under Oh Baby | 12 Comments
Tuesday, July 13th, 2010
We may be slightly biased, but we’re convinced Ruby is going to grow up to be a rocket scientist/supermodel/Olympic athlete. At 6 weeks old, her many talents include …
- Rolling over (okay, she’s only done it that once, but it still counts)
- Sleeping 6 hours at a stretch (again, she’s only done it once but I have hope)
- Saying “ah-goo,” “ooh-ahh,” “heh heh” and a multitude of other sounds capable of melting adults with their adorableness
- Smiling at her mom, dad, Aunt Wendy, herself in the mirror, and a rattle shaken in front of her face
- Smiling when she hears Granny’s voice on the phone - twice!
- Turning her head toward Mommy or Daddy’s voice
- Raising up on her arms
- Supporting her own weight on her legs when you hold her in a standing position (she’s not supposed to be able to do that till three months! I think she’s going to be an early walker like her mama).
- Writhing and flailing like a trapped alligator while we try to dress her. This includes grabbing the bars on the changing table railing and attempting to pull herself over the side.
- Calming from a fuss in her hammock when I say, “It’s okay, Mama’s here.” (This works sometimes and lets aforementioned mama stay in bed a little longer. Other times, not so much.)
- Enjoying bath time, especially when we pour warm water over her. She didn’t even fuss last night when D accidentally let some get in her eyes while rinsing off her shampoo. This is a strong contrast to the first couple of weeks, when she HATED bath time and screamed from beginning to end.
- Grasping my shirt and fistfuls of my hair. Lately, she always has some broken strands of hair caught between her fingers.
- When she’s in an active mood, climbing up the shoulder of whoever is holding her.
- Calming as soon as I sit down with her in the recliner because she knows food is coming.
- Getting mad at Mama for taking time to smooch her cheek repeatedly when all she wants is the boob, dammit!
- Refusing to take naps during the day. Yesterday she slept maybe two hours on and off and then slept 9 hours in three stretches at night (4.5 hours, 3.5 hours, 1 hour). There’s no way she’s getting the 16 hours the average baby sleeps in a day, but she doesn’t seem negatively affected by it. I, on the other hand, can get nothing done because she’s always awake demanding to be entertained. I don’t mind too much, though, because it’s so fun seeing her so alert and taking everything in.
- In general, being a gorgeous angel of a child, even when she’s turning red with fury over not being taken out of her swing fast enough, like she is doing right this very moment. Okay, gotta go …
posted by K | filed under Oh Baby | 4 Comments
Wednesday, July 7th, 2010
Last night started out rough. When Ruby fell asleep in D’s arms at 9 (after eating at 7:30), and I wasn’t ready for bed yet, we weren’t quite sure what to do. We could put her in her crib in the nursery, but then she’d probably wake up in a couple of hours and wake up D unnecessarily. I was still going to be in the living room trying to get some work done on the computer, so it seemed more logical for me to keep her in there with me, let her sleep in her vibrating seat, feed her when she woke up, and then both of us go to bed.
Thing is, Ruby chose this occasion for her first time to go five hours without eating. When I got finished with my work and sufficiently sleepy at 12:15, she was still sleeping. I could wake her to eat and probably deal with her being wide awake for the next two hours. Or, I could just let her sleep and hope she stayed that way long enough for me to sneak a little shut-eye.
I chose the latter option. I carried her carefully in her vibrating seat to our bedroom, no easy task, what with opening and shutting doors, keeping cats at bay, etc., all in perfect silence. I quickly brushed my teeth, hopped into bed, and willed myself to fall asleep, which I did … about 7 minutes before Ruby woke up.
Back to the living room we went - we haven’t mastered nursing in bed yet, and most of the time it still takes more effort than it’s worth, plus D gets woken up. I fed her while watching Roswell on the Roku player, she fell asleep, and we were back in bed (she in her Amby Baby hammock) at 1:38.
I was hoping she’d go another marathon four or five hours without waking, but she was up again at 3:45, at which time she wakes up almost every night, regardless of other factors. Back to the recliner we went. This time I kept all the lights off and turned the TV on the “Light Classical” station, and after she ate, we both fell asleep for another measly two hours, interrupted once by D coming to kiss us goodbye when he left for work.
At 6:15 she was awake and ready to eat again - my theory is she doesn’t eat as much during the middle-of-the-night feedings because she falls asleep before she’s really finished, and half the time so do I, so I don’t try putting her back on like I do during the day time. For a kid who hated the boob for four weeks, she has sure changed her mind now. She has gone from an “excited ineffective” nurser to a barracuda. That means when she first clamps on, it hurts enough to make me wince and say “Ow!” but then it gets better … usually.
On this occasion, it kept feeling pinchy and unpleasant, and basically made me feel like crawling out of my skin. I was grouchy, and sleepy, and ready for her to finish already, and when she nodded off, I made no effort to rouse her and get her to try again.
By now it was 6:45 - despite her barracuda tendencies, she also dawdles in between - and I dragged us back to bed. Because she wasn’t quite as soundly asleep this time, I put her in her vibrating seat, hoping it would soothe her enough to let her poor mama get another couple of hours of sleep.
Not 10 minutes later, the fussing started. Trust me, I have tried letting her fuss a few minutes, hoping she’ll calm herself down. Sometimes that works, but most of the time she gradually escalates until she reaches full-on bawling, and then it’s harder to get her soothed again. So I usually just go pick her up somewhere between the “eh … eh eh” stage and the “eh eh eh eh eh … waaaaaaahhhhhhh!” stage.
This morning, I tried leaning over the bed and saying, “Shhh, it’s okay, baby, Mama’s here,” because that has actually worked once or twice. Not this time. She was still cranking up, so I groaned, rolled out of bed and fetched her out of that seat. As usual, she hushed the instant she was up on my shoulder.
I put her on her back in the middle of the bed and lay down beside her, crossing my fingers this would by some miracle work. In the past, putting her in bed with us has had a very low success rate. Normally, if she’s fussy, she demands to be held, usually in an upright position, and every five minutes or so she gets bored and insists on being moved to a different position/view.
This time, she looked around the room with bright eyes, and then rolled herself up on her side facing me. She looked at my face and smiled so sweetly. I smiled back and talked to her, and she just kept smiling, even showing her dimple that usually only appears when she’s screaming (hence its name “the scream dimple”). That smile is so sweet it makes me want to give her everything in the world and never let her out of my sight and hold her forever.
Then, as I stroked her hair, her eyelids got heavy and she looked so content, and before I knew it she was fast asleep next to me.
These few moments made the whole unpleasant evening worthwhile and pushed away every last fragment of my grumpiness. We slept together that way for another three hours and woke together, slowly and sweetly.
It’s moments like these that let me know she is figuring out I’m her mom. At 4th of July both with my family and with D’s, when she’d be fussing with someone else, I’d take her and put her up on my shoulder, and she’d go instantly quiet. She knows my touch, my smell, my voice - something. She knows me!
Here’s a glimmer of a smile, though I’m too busy basking in the really good ones to run get a camera!
posted by K | filed under Oh Baby | 7 Comments
Friday, July 2nd, 2010
She smiled at me! Really, for real, smiled!
She’s all the time in her sleep doing these adorable “smiles” and even what seem like laughs, but never when she’s awake. My What to Expect the First Year book says between one month and two months, a baby will learn how to smile in response to a smile, so for the past week or so, when she’s focused on my face, I’ve been making a point to smile at her a lot, along with a good bit of squeaky, “Smile for Mama!” stuff.
So in the gray hours of this morning, while D was sleeping, I brought my little sunshine into the living room to eat in the recliner. When she was finished, content and alert, her belly full, I held her up in front of my face. She looked at me with that single-minded, cross-eyed look, and I smiled and squeaked, “Smile for mama! Come on, show mama a smile!”
And then … she did! She smiled! At me! Twice!
Do I even have to tell you it melted me into a puddle right there in the recliner? She is so beautiful, this girl of mine. Her cheeks so pink, her hair so soft and swirly, her back so wrinkly, her arms so long and limp when she’s sleeping. A hundred times a day I remember she’s mine, and I am hers, and the thought is like music swelling.
“If you smile through your pain and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun shining through
For you.”