... And The Weeks That Follow

While I would characterize the first week as a mom of three as a little too easy, I'd like to contrast weeks two and three as a brush with reality. After many months getting plenty of sleep, I was ready to battle sleep deprivation for six or seven days. But when you hit night 15 or 16 of sleeplessness, you get tired and what's worse cranky. The truth: being a newly minted mom of three young children is tough. And to illustrate, here is a little recap of how this week went, written with about as much clarity as my third cup of coffee for the day will allow.

***

At 4:00 AM the baby wanted to eat again then spent the next two hours grunting from gas or a two hour attempt to make a bowl movement. Needless to say, she didn't let me go back to sleep. At 6:00 AM, Mary and Bobby called me out of my bed to take them downstairs for breakfast.

Ok. I can do this. Naptime is only ... ugh ... seven hours from now.

I made breakfast. No one ate it. I downed a cup of coffee and made the kids ride their bikes up and down the street, despite the fact that their outside voices were likely waking up the neighborhood.

That activity didn't last long enough. They were back inside running around the house, chasing each other by 7:00 AM.

The baby looked up at me as if to say, 'please save me from all this noise.' But I couldn't save her.

The desired state of synchronized napping didn't pan out the way I wanted it to. I slept for about fifteen minutes - enough to have a nightmare that my kids would go blind from watching the solar eclipse.

I read two pages in my book and had to put it down again. I swear I have already fed the baby ten times today.

On Monday night, I got ready for Mary's parent information night at school. I noticed my hair was shedding more than usual - one of those lovely postpartum symptoms that always seems to attack me a little earlier than the rest of the maternal population.

I finished getting ready, putting on a little make-up for the first time in about ten days. I opted for a 'summer sweater' thinking that the classroom and auditorium would be air conditioned. Peter said, 'you look nice, but isn't it a little hot for a sweater?'

'It's what fits.'

I brushed it off ... until I sat down in a miniature chair in the classroom, trying to listen to Mary's Pre-K teacher go through her policies while dabbing at the sweat dripping down my forehead. So much for that make-up. As if the comment was only addressed at me the teacher said they didn't have air conditioning - just this (very little and very ineffective) fan. I couldn't take it anymore, I ripped off my sweater and sat there in an ill fitting camisole. Still sweating. When I stood up, I noticed my zipper was down. What an awesome first appearance. Who goes to a parent night two weeks after giving birth anyway? I was going stir crazy though - I needed to see people, do something, get out.

On Wednesday night I literally set the table with i-Pads next to the kids' plates. I knew they would be tired after coming home from dance class. Or was I just tired? I rationalized that the devices would teach them more than I could in the next thirty minutes.

The kids fought over the new train game Daddy installed on the iPad. They fought over a little chicken that was part of my Fisher Price barn growing up. Somehow it ended up at our house and for about ten minutes became the hottest commodity in our basement. They fought over who was getting in the car first, who was holding the baby first, who was getting in the bath first, everything but who was going to bed first. They fought over one piece of chalk when 63 others were laying all around them, a rolly polly which ultimately ended up squashed in Bobby's hand, the last of the lemonade and the color of their snack bowl, the sequence of stories at bedtime and who was going to get the last hug goodnight.

They fought just to fight, verbal bickering was followed by a pinch, a push, a pull of the hair, then escalated into Mary hitting a tee-ball right at Bobby's face.

I raised my voice, then I yelled, then I woke up the baby, then everyone cried, then I got a splitting headache, then I dished out hugs and pleaded for everyone just to listen to Mommy, get along, and stop hurting each other. Please, please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeease.

... And the kicker of all of this, I have help just about every day of the week. So who am I to even complain when so many mothers and fathers are doing this by themselves?

***

When you are the opposite of overjoyed: over-stressed, over-anxious, over-sad, or in my case over-tired, the negatives can occasionally overwhelm the positives; a day of good can be darkened by an episode in the evening when you come this close to losing it.

If you let it. And I refuse to.

I haven't gone to sleep once in the past three weeks regretting the controlled chaos we welcomed into our house. Instead I've gone to sleep thankful for it, embracing the moments when everything just clicked, instead of those when things got messy.

I remembered when Mary and Bobby came downstairs hand in hand in the morning to greet me and the baby. I reflected on the sweet way they talk to each other, coach each other and make each other laugh everyday. I thanked my sister-in-law again for the Moby wrap and the extra mobility it allows. I cherished when the house was quiet, when I felt rested, and when I spent an extra thirty minutes with my book.

I remembered when dinner was simmering on the stove and I had some extra time to make one more trip to the park for the day. When the summer nights were just too pretty for words. When the kids snuggled around me at night to hear stories until it was time for the lights to go out. When the hugs, butterfly kisses, and nose rubs warmed me inside and out. And perhaps my favorite moment this past week; when Margaret had her first bath, Mary and Bobby looking in asking if they could help. Mary touched the baby's hand and said, 'I will love you forever.'

Getting through the sleep deprivation and fatigue is about just that; putting love first everyday.

Lo.

A Week and a Day

On Sunday I cried leaving the hospital. With each kid it's been the same thing. It starts when I say goodbye to the nurses at their station and continues as I walk back through the hallways that led me into birth and delivery initially. I hugged the heavy set nurse that accompanied us to the exit to ensure the baby got out safe and sound, and I expressed how thankful I was for three amazing experiences at her hospital.  

On Monday I cried watching my parents drive away; it would be another month before we'd see them again. My mom loves calling that kind of thing out and then lamenting that things go too fast. Which they do. Which only makes me more emotional.

On Tuesday we ate the last of the leftovers from our Davanti take-out and a Sunday 'family dinner' that made up for the ones I so frequently miss by not living in Pittsburgh.

On Wednesday I ate the last piece of cake; an almond hazelnut flourless chocolate cake that I had made my Dad for his birthday. It was so good.

On Thursday I threw away the gladiolas which had browned around the edges. A whole bunch of them, grown in Michigan, were $4 at the grocery store. I had bought them to decorate the house in anticipation of Margaret's arrival. The rest of the house had browned with dust as well. I cleaned and cleaned all morning until everything shined once again.

On Friday evening I opened a celebratory bottle of champagne. Margaret was one week old; the bags under my eyes showed it. By 7:00 PM it was gone. Luckily the cellar is stocked with more.

Today I went for a run, packed up my maternity clothes, vowed to put on something other than sweat pants, showered, put on a little make up, and zipped up a pair of jeans with enough slack in the waist. I was no longer a pregnant mom or a newly evicted hospital patient mom. I was just a mom again.

Tomorrow I'll take the balloons down. Mimi had brought them to the hospital. The kids were running around my hospital room carrying them. We tied them around the railing leading into our house when we got home. The helium has run its course though. They seem less and less lively each morning.

One week in the life of a newborn is nothing but firsts. A first day and night in your new home. A first dinner party complete with a ceremonial trumpet salute. A first swing and then nap in the Mamaroo, followed by a first spin around the play mat, big brother and sister looking on, begging you to do more than your tiny body will allow. First hand me downs and laundry piles dedicated just to you. First sponge baths in the sink and explosive poops all over Mommy right after you've finished. First bedtimes in the bassinet and first slumbers that last longer than four hours (thank heavens).

But with all the joyous firsts, I can't help but reflect on the fleeting nature of them. How fast it has already gone and how fast it will continue to go. I look at my four year, my two year old, and now baby, and wonder how we got this far so quickly.

Tomorrow, along with throwing away pretty pink balloons that I continue to mistake for solicitors at the door as I walk Margaret to sleep around our living room, we'll go to church and I'll likely find myself getting teary eyed. Sure, there are quite a few hormones involved, but ultimately my emotions stem from something else. It's an extreme sense of gratitude I feel every second of every day for the moments in my life and the family that contributes to them. It's been a wonderful week; a week gone too fast; and there's a large part of me hoping it won't be the last of its kind.

Lo.

Meet Margaret

So Margaret.

You've met many of the key players at this point. 

Your Mommy and Daddy. 

Your big brother and sister. 

Four grandparents and two great grandmothers. 

 

Even one of your aunts and uncles and a pair of cousins. 

You probably picked up that we're loud. That things might get a little crowded and chaotic at times. That dinner is a very important decision in our household and cocktail hour starts anytime after 5:00. That we love each other and we are so in love with you. And that we are storytellers in our own right; comedians, musicians, dancers, and artists with a passion for the dramatic (or is that just your Mom?)

Regardless, after the more dramatic birth stories of your sister and brother, I was thinking your tale would rival theirs. But in essence, it was unnaturally uncomplicated. Short, sweet, pain and drama free. You've hardly even cried over the past day and a half. I'll give it some time, but in my initial diagnosis you have me wondering where are the dramatics? 

However, as a storyteller and in the tradition of what I wrote for Mary and Bobby when they were born, I will elaborate on your birth story with one of their and my favorite bedtimes stories. 

Margaret. 

Loosely adapted from Madeleine 

In a white house in Mayberry 

with boxes of red flowers.

Woke a family of four

At a very early hour.  

Mom and Dad left home at half past six

On a chilly August day that Mommy had picked.

At half past six, with pants that didn't fit. 

Mommy went to the hospital, nervous a bit.

To meet her youngest, named Margaret. 

She was big, Mommy could tell. 

Strong too, her kicks firmly felt. 

Mommy was dilated to four

But she needed a little more

To get Margaret out the door. 

So Mommy robed up and got into bed

Got fluids, medicine, and giant legs that turned dead

Dr. Lin kept me calm, Nurse Chris made me laugh.

I was thankful for everyone on the hospital's friendly staff.

A couple hours later, Nana and Opa came on down  

Apparently Nana wanted to be here just as you crowned. 

It was an easy, pain free labor. Completely drama free. 

Then I pushed and pushed till dark hair we could see.

Daddy held one heavy leg, Nurse Chris held the other. 

I pushed three more times, and you were cuddling on your mother.  

I felt a little queezy, so I drank apple juice.
Five minutes later, I sent that juice loose.

At 3:37 PM on August 4, you were born into this world. 

7 pounds, 10 ounces and dark hair with a little swirl. 

No scratches or scars
The easiest birth by far.
Just balloons, presents and flowers

Sushi and champagne at dinner hour.

Mary wanted to hold you, Bobby played with trucks.

Bedtime came too soon, and Mommy said, 'aw shucks.' 

Run off with Daddy, go home and get some sleep

I'll see you soon in the morning, so please don't weep.
They were a sad little crew. 

Mary and Bobby cried, 'boo hoo'

But we want our Mommy too. 

***

Now it's morning little Margaret. 

And we welcome you home today. 

Mary and Bobby love you. 

Everyone will settle in okay.

I'm turning out the light.

And walking out the hospital door. 

I'd say that's the end

But there's going to be a whole lot more.  

I love you and feel so blessed. 

Mommy.