Survival of the Cutest

Last night, after we had read Curious George; Plumber's Helper for the third time in a row, I told Mary, lights out, bed time. (Typically, at this time we move from my bed to my rocking chair where we sing a couple songs that ultimately lull her to sleep.) I told her that Daddy was going to take Bobby downstairs and it was just going to be the two of us. She laid down next to me, hugged me tightly, and didn't let go for a good ten minutes. I mirrored her embrace and didn't hurry her along to the crib. A lot had happened in the past five days, and I knew she needed an extra second to absorb some of my strength. This week, I knew I was going to be dealing with a very fragile newborn, but I didn't anticipate that all of us would be a little more delicate as we adjusted to life as a household of four.

On Sunday, I left the hospital with a helpless little six-pound baby that needed my constant attention, as well as warmth, milk and shoulder to spit up on. And I returned to a household that needed me for a whole lot of other reasons.

Even though Bobby's discharge weight was more than a pound heavier than his sister's, I had the same don't-break-the-baby mantra ringing through my head. I was nervous I would break one of his little legs when changing him; I was afraid I would drop him; and I was afraid his sister wouldn't quite understand just how gentle she needed to be around him.  But I soon realized, that we were all susceptible to a little breakage this week.

In a way, we were all in survival mode. And getting through it depended on all of us working together, communicating as well as we could, making sacrifices here and there, and understanding that patience isn't just a virtue, it's a necessity.

As Peter returned to work, it meant securing that Mary would sleep through the night through continuous reinforcement and praise, especially after one very tumultuous tantrum filled night on Sunday.

For Mary, it meant stealing as many minutes walking, dancing, taking bath time swim lessons, singing Cinderella songs, and snuggling with Mommy as possible.

For Bobby, it meant staying out of his sister's line of vision at feeding time.

And for me, it meant listening to my Dad's sage medical advice to not overdo it - to stay off the jogging path, despite my mind's desire to push a little further. Resting when I could were doctor's orders.

Some other things helped as well ...

A sweet incentive here and there: mint chocolate chip ice cream, Hershey's kisses, and BB's magical donuts all did their share.

Extra love from 'two Opas!', Nana and Mimi.

Welcome to the world hugs from Aunt Claire and Uncle Trent ...

  

Soaking up four generations of family with Oma. 

Bending the rules. Slightly.

Help. More help. And some very thoughtful presents from some very thoughtful relatives.

And just looking at the cutest little face in the world, which melted all of our hearts and quickly erased any sleep deprivation, pain, or heartache that we felt,

Today, we're all one week stronger, happier, healthier, and more in love with baby brother. 

Lo.  

Hello Bobby

They say you know that baby is bound to arrive any day when you feel a strong nesting impulse kick in. Perhaps because I neglected the urge to bake nut rolls, cook piles of freezer bound goulash, and clean the house from top to bottom this week, I had no sense of when baby #2 would actually make his appearance.

The efforts I did make were less focused on the place we live, but on the people who live it. I made sure Mommy and Daddy got enough sleep. And I took a stab at transitioning big sister from a toddler to a little girl. We tried out her big girl bed, we've been attempting the potty, and I've been bartering away the bottle. She's learned the words patient, and frustration, and gentle, gentle, GENTLE! But unfortunately, she's still sleeping in baby's crib, drinking milk out of baby's bottle, and cramping the space in baby's diaper drawer with her own.

Regardless, when you surprised us by coming into the world yesterday, we were ready for you. 100%. Our loving embrace couldn't have been more eager to snuggle you away from the cold Chicago winter. And along with the camera, which was packed in my hospital bag for the past couple days, I brought a placeholder bedtime book to help reinterpret your birth story.

Good Afternoon Bobby
Loosely based on Goodnight Moon 

In Mommy and Daddy's blue room.
At 1:30 AM, Mommy broke her tummy's water balloon.
And she woke up Daddy to go vroom vroom!
And your sister was sleeping, sound in her bed.
And Mimi was on her way to watch her in our stead.

At the hospital, I was introduced to the delivery room
Where there was a nurse named Martha
And a Dr. named Schied.
And sweet thoughts of your welcome to the world cries.
I laid there waiting for the regular pains to commence.
Schied said we'd be there all day, so they gave me 'pid' to hop the fence.
And then they came. Oh, how they came fast.
And Mommy called for them to bring her relief at last.
Dr. Johnson took his merry old time. But at last he made it.
A prod and pinch later, labor became easy with his cool kit.
I still shivered. I still grasped the bed in pain.
But in comparison to your sister, I stayed perfectly sane.
Before long, it was time to push.
Dr. Halperin told me to do it from my tush.

You were born at lunchtime. 12:41 PM to be exact.

Weighing a whopping 6 pounds, 7 ounces.

Measuring 20.5 inches long.

The sun is coming out. It's a chilly, Chicago day.
So I won't say goodnight, I'll say hello if I may.
Hello Mommy.

Hello Daddy.

Hello Drs. and Nurses.

Hello food. And warm bed.

Hello to TWO Opas.

Hello Mimi and Nana.

Hello Eva.

And Mary.

Hello possibilities, hopes and dreams.
Hello World.
Meet my little Bobby.

I couldn't love you anymore, sweet little boy.

Lo /  Mommy.

One Down, Two to Go

One of the things I love about my job is its proximity to the Test Kitchen. And with it, a certain redefinition of the typical corporate meeting. Powerpoints include stunning, mouth-watering visuals. Prototypes aren't etched on flip charts, they are edible. Speeches, even the long soliloquies, tend to be salivating. And there are less pen strokes, more fork lifts. Simply put, my job tends to be quite delicious.  

The problem is, earlier this month, the food quotient of my career became an enemy. Something in my stomach flipped and the charge to show, test, taste and take notes on burger after burger, thin patty after thick patty almost lead to several job-ending upchucks right in the middle of my beloved Test Kitchen. 

In the nearly three weeks since I have last written, headaches, nausea and fatigue have ruled the better part of my days. But in an effort to diminish the pervasive plague's role in my life, there were other great things that happened.

Mary learned how to go down a slide by herself. 

And alongside a friend.

We went to the Zoo. 

And to the beach. 

We got to hang out with old friends. 

And meet some new ones. 

We had a short visit from one cousin. 

And a longer visit from another.

We boated with Kiki.
And plunged into chilly Lake Michigan waters.   

The grass grew. 

And it was cut. 

The house got dirty. 

And it was cleaned. 

The gherkins were harvested and pickled. 

Bubbles.
Bubbles.
And more bubbles.  

I held my breath as I tasted the control patty. 

I thought non nauseous thoughts when I tasted the thicker, juicier burger. 

I focused on just taking a bite of the pickle when I tasted the deluxe. 

I drank lots of water.
And I avoided several near projectile situations.  

My top button popped. 

I moved into roomier jeans. 

And I got a first glimpse of the little peach rapidly growing inside me. 

Yep, number two is 13-weeks on its way. And Peter and I couldn't be happier; both that Mary will be a big sister in February and that I'm finally over the rocky waters and back loving my McJob. 

Lo. 

Happy Birthday

Dear Mary,

A year ago, as you entered our world, time stood still. And I was breathless. (Delirious, sore, and exhausted.) But completely overcome by the miracle that was resting in my arms. We had the whole day, just to hold you, look at you, and cherish every moment that your eyes opened and closed; every time that you ate, that you cried and that we found the voice and embrace to sooth you.

Today, time will likely move as fast if not faster than it moved all year. You'll spend the day crawling, laughing, playing, moving faster and faster away from being a baby and into a little girl. You'll probably learn a new word or two; you might even get the confidence to walk without a hand. Regardless, you'll lay further claim to the unique person you are going to be. And I will become even more proud of you.

You have grown and seen and learned so much in just 52 weeks. And in those same weeks, you have given me an education that I didn't anticipate. You have taught me that life and the responsibilities I hold are sacred; that the definition of a good night's sleep is relative and that crying in public is okay. You taught me that parties with a 4:00 start time are awesome and that play dates can be the highlight of a week. I've learned that reservations for three and lap baby scenarios are very underrated, and that reading aloud to you is better than getting through the latest best seller. You taught me that life is too short to worry if my jeans are a little snug and that 52 weeks wasn't nearly enough time to call you my baby.

While I know I can't slow you down. Tonight, just like every night, I will try to freeze a moment or two and lock it in my heart. As we read together, and as we rock in your great Grandma's rocker; as you finally give up on your special day, close your little eyes and nuzzle into my arms so you can hear my heartbeat the way you used to; I will hold that moment. And in it, you will always be my little girl.

Thank you for making one year so marvelous. Happy Birthday, Mary.

Love,
Mommy.

(Cue somewhere near 52 weeks of photos)