Last night I was talking with Becky on the phone.  Our conversation was interspersed with me shifting the phone because Mini was having a velcro day where he wanted to be held continuously, and her breaking up fights/pulling kids off of play kitchens/helping the little one get out of the chair.  Finally, at the point where Genevieve was screaming because Braden hit her with a toy and Mini was working himself up because I was not paying attention to him (even though I was carrying him in the calm-the-baby-down-walk-through-the-house), Becky sighed and said,

“Did you ever think that WE would be having this conversation?”

And while I never thought that this would happen, I am so very, very glad that it has.

*poof* 

Y’all should know by now, I’m not big on posting photos.  So this will come down in a few days.  But I had to share.  Time for the pic to come down, sorry.

We went to see the mall Santa this morning.  Someone was awake until we got in the stroller, and by the time we got from car to Santa’s booth, he was passed out.  Didn’t bother Santa, he snuggled him up anyway. 

I cried.  I’m still crying.  I feel like all I do is cry some days.  And it bothers people — Santa gave me a hug this morning, the lactation consultant the other day suggested I might have postpartum depression.  But I know it’s not.  How do you explain to someone that you never met before, that you’ll never see again, that you’re crying because you thought this day might never come?  How do you explain the years spent terrified that you would never get to pass your son into Santa’s lap, the Christmases past spent wishing for these precious fleeting moments?  That these tears are of celebration, an outpouring of love for that tiny little body in your arms, for all the hopes and dreams now made flesh? 

He’ll be six weeks old tomorrow.  Six perfect weeks.

Manly and I couldn’t hold out for the whole six-weeks postpartum no-sex thing.  Sorry, but that was just not happening.

We didn’t use birth control — never even thought of it until afterwards.  And even if I had thought about it beforehand, there is nothing in the house.

When I realized it, I had a nanosecond of panic — dear god, what if I get pregnant?

And then I laughed — I’m infertile, remember?

And then I wanted to cry.

Today marks the Boy’s 4-weeks-old day.  Y’all can take a guess at what I’m thankful for.

It’s been an amazingly short and mind-numbingly long 4 weeks.  The amazing is him, obviously.  He’s beautiful (and that’s not just my opinion, everyone sees him and calls him “gorgeous”) and he is going to be a big strong boy very soon.  Big blue eyes still, no telling what color they’ll end up, but right now he will have his head on swivel and those eyes looking around for noises and lights and what-was-that?  He’s gaining weight according to my upper back muscles and our apparently very sucky scale.  We think he’s up to around 10 lb already — piglet!  He’s already developing a personality of his own too; he seems to take very much after his mom and dad in temperment.  Laid back and happy 90% of the time and screaming meme mad that last 10%.  He does NOT like dirty diapers and will wake up screaming in the middle of a nap if he soils one.  He’s not big on the naked time, which I don’t blame him because we keep the house chilly, and has hated every bath he’s taken so far.  He’s still not awake much of the time, usually falls to sleep nursing or right after when we put him in the bouncy chair with the vibrating butt.  Except for the 8-11 pm time frame, which is apparently party time even though we’re trying to wind down and sleep.  He’ll usually sleep with us in our bed with no problem, and will go down in his bassinet or crib pretty easily after the 3 am-ish feeding and again at 6.  I can’t tell you how many times he finishes nursing and I just let him sleep beside me on the couch or just sit there and hold him, his tiny little body a weight on my chest, fists curled up and secure in my arms.  Manly says I hold him too much, but I can’t help it.  We spent so long trying to get to this point, and I am going to soak up every little minute of it that I can. 

The mind-numbing is also him.  Because although it’s been 4 weeks, it’s been 4 weeks broken up into roughly 3-hour stretches.  He eats for ~45 minutes, then I have about 2 hours to eat, shower, sleep, do laundry, facebook, whatever.  But as I’m sure many of you know and the rest of you can understand, 2 hour stretches do not a very enjoyable life make.  The sleep is the worst part; I just never get into that deep sleep where your body can recover.  I’ve gotten TWO blissful 4 1/2 hour stretches and I never understood until then how wonderful four full hours of sleep can feel.  The rest of the mind-numbing is just the monotony of caretaking for an infant.  I’m not built to be a SAHM, and I was pretty sure of that before, but now I know.  I just feel … useless sometimes.  I want to DO things, but there’s just not enough time between feedings to be productive at anything.  I’ve been writing his birth story two sentences at a time for the last month, and I’ve been working on this post for 4 days. 

I guess all of this is a long way of saying that we’re doing absolutely fine, and life with an infant is exactly like everyone else’s life with an infant.  I love him uncontrollably, and so does his father, and I love both of them together even more than I love them individually.  And today, of all days, my heart goes out in gratitude to all of you who have walked this journey with me to get here.

If you haven’t already heard, the Boy is here with us — he joined our family last Thursday night.  8 lb 3 oz, 20 inches long and absolutely beautiful.

I’ve been trying to piece things together for a real post, but that looks like it’s a while off now.  Cliff notes version, short easy labor (with the epidural which was totally worth it), followed by jaundice, milk coming in latelate, and finally things starting to look like they’ll sort themselves out. 

I’ll be around, and hopefully get to finish up my birth story post which got half-done in the hospital and is now wasting away in my drafts folder. 

Be back as soon as I can!

Some choice quotes from the other night with my husband’s family:

• Gramma: Why, you’re not nearly as big as I thought you’d be by now!
• Aunt: Oh, she’s ready to deliver any day now — just look at her nose!
• SIL: Let me break it to you, you won’t be getting your belly back any time soon.

Thanks.  Just thanks.

I started having contractions Tuesday afternoon, which freaked me out enough to call Manly and ask him to keep his phone nearby, which freaked him out enough to come home and stay with me even though all I did was go upstairs to take a nap.  Since then I’ve been contracting on and off, randomly.  Some of them are painless Braxton-Hicks, some of them feel more like menstrual cramps but wrapping around to my lower back.  But nothing that suggests that anything real will be happening anytime soon.

Of course this is when Manly’s family decides to come into town.  And his aunts all want to TOUCH me.  Which is something that makes me a little uncomfortable on any given day, but right now totally makes me want to lose my mind.  His entire family is very huggy and wants kisses and to rub my belly.  But I have been feeling very … vulnerable, I guess, is the best description.  My body is not mine anymore, and I’m having to be careful not to run into furniture or hit my stomach when I open doors.  Stairs make me feel like I’m just going to topple over.  Add into that the I’m-due-at-any-moment-and-just-want-to-protect-this-baby-until-he’s-out feeling, and the idea of people who are not Manly or my mother laying hands on me makes me want to curl into a ball and hide in the corner.

And since they’re all leaving this weekend, everyone is telling me I HAVE to have the baby before they go back to NorthernCity. 

Yeah, right.

Another quickie since I’m supposed to be helping someone else with a project…

• 37 weeks is considered full-term at their office, and they would not do anything to stop labor at this point
• 3+ cm dialated (almost 4)
• 25% effaced
• -2 station
• negative for group b strep
• blood pressure 114/64
• no weight gain since last visit (up total of 24 lb at this point)
• baby’s heart beat 154 bpm
• quote, “If I was a betting man, I’d bet that you won’t make it til next week’s appointment.”  Sharah’s note: remember, this is the same guy who told me I wouldn’t make it to term last visit.
• if I haven’t delivered by my appointment next Monday, they’ll look to see what his schedule is the week that I’m due and we can schedule an induction on a day he is on call (if I want it).  Per his professional opinion though, I’m not going to need one.  I’m apparently “very favorable” for delivery via Mother Nature.
• and no, I’m not having any contractions.  A few cramps/back spasms here and there, but nothing that lasts longer than me going “OUCH” and rubbing the owie spot. 

Now I appear to have reached “that” point.  The point where random friends and family have started checking in to make sure I haven’t had the baby and we decided to keep it a secret from all and sundry.  Really, peeps, when the baby is here, we will be shouting it from the rooftop.  The hospital has wireless internet for a reason.

We have an appointment tomorrow at the local photography place to get a formal sitting of me and Manly before the baby comes.  It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but the last few weeks I’ve been afraid that the baby would come at any point.  As of right now, I’m thinking that this kid is going to be just as stubborn, hard-headed, and opinionated as his parents — and he’s decided to prove the doctor wrong.  So we will get pictures made of us, and then we will go back again after he is here and have family portraits done.  One thing I really want to do is what one of my girlfriends did — she had portraits made every three months of her little girl and mailed them out to all of us so that we could keep track of her during the first year (she is living 6 hours away so we don’t see her often). 

They’ve started a set of delivery date squares for me at work.  The earliest date (from what I was told) is this Sunday afternoon at 2:00 and the latest is November 11.  I don’t really want to think about either of those coming true.  My girlfriend at work is fairly confident that I’ll be the weekend of the 24th.  We are really similar physically, her son’s original due date was 11/7 (how’s that for freaky) and his birthday is the 25th.  I personally am just hoping for an October baby so that I can cram him into the “Baby’s First Halloween” onesie that got passed to me from Jessica.  Cause if next year is baby’s first halloween, he ain’t going to fit into that outfit.

And now I’m distracted by someone rolling around and my belly moving … have no idea anymore what I was going to say.  Oh well, couldn’t have been that important.

I’ve apparently reached “that” point — where all the women in my office (especially those about my mother’s age) pass me in the hall, look at me with pity, and go “Oh, honey, when are you due?”

My boss even said that he could tell I was there when I waddled into his office yesterday. 

My pelvis feels like it’s trying to split down the joint in the front (depending on how far down he’s curled up) and it hurts to get up and walk.  My hands ache in the joints because they’ve gotten so swollen.  I keep seeing mucus-y stuff when I go potty, but nothing doing. 

I know that this all means that he isn’t ready yet, but I am definitely there.

That’s just maddingly unhelpful. Why are these things never clear? … that’s even more than less than unhelpful.

– Jack Sparrow

Still no contractions, still hurting every time I have to stand up, and now it appears that I’ve lost 2 lbs.  So all signs point to “GO!” and yet nothing is moving.

So I’m going to go do some more laundry.  No, not because I’m nesting, but because I’m in terror that once the baby comes, my mother-in-law will come over, see the quality of my housekeeping, and decide that I AM the complete slacker that she always thought I was.

And maybe I’ll have another english muffin …