Happy First Father's Day, Dear Husband, There's no one in the world I'd rather share this awesome and crazy parenthood journey with.

All my love,



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I never thought it was possible to by simultaneously exhausted and filled with energy, but that's the best way I can describe combining work and motherhood at this point. I have spent the better part of the last two weeks moving non-stop, sleeping 3-4 hours a night (if I'm lucky), and somehow I am STILL going, and I am actually able to function this way. For someone who used to get crabby if she even missed 15 minutes of her precious 8 hours of sleep, this is an astounding revelation. People can actually function on this little sleep? I can actually function? Yes, knowing that it's not forever definitely helps. Eventually my baby will sleep through the night..eventually.

Adjusting to working motherhood has been, well, interesting. Can't say it has been the most fun, but I have learned a lot about myself in the last few weeks. The worst part has been just trying to figure out how to get all those inane tasks (laundry, dishes, cleaning) done without sacrificing the too few hours we have with our precious baby. But, we are getting there. We are slowly, but surely, finding our groove. Now, if only my daughter would drink from a bottle and stop requiring hours of tedious use of a medicine dropper to down 2 oz of milk we'd be in business. But all in all, everyone is surviving and adjusting as best we can. We are all a little worse for the wear right now, but we keep reminding ourselves that for us, right now, this is the best case scenario. In an unstable economy you have to do what you have to do. Much as I would love to stay at home full-time, it's not in the cards right now.

With that being said, I bring you Amazing Amelia Antics. Last night she "crawled" off her play mat for the first time. Now, of course, at 3 months of age it is hardly crawling, but more look scooting. But, she's getting it. It's fascinating to watch. She's also already holding her head up, mostly sitting up on her own, and talking and laughing a lot. She is one amazing and strong baby (yes, I know I am totally bias. Who cares-it's my blog!)

I read an article recently written by a Mom who said "I used to need to set goals, to acomplish things, to feel like I was doing things with my life. Then I had a kid. Now, I could be happy watching my son eat a cookie all day." It's so true. Having a child really makes you realize how precious each and every moment is and it is SO enthralling to watch them do EVERY little thing like it is something so exciting and new.

On that note, over and out. Until next time.

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12 weeks. Wednesday will mark 12 weeks since my beautiful baby girl was born. There were many moments over the last two years that I thought I would never be sitting in this place, and yet here I am. As I write, I am trying to mentally prepare myself for the next transition. Now that I am barely adjusted to being a mother it's on to becoming a working mother. I can't say that I am overly excited about the prospect of going back to work, but I know it's best for our family right now. I've been largely silent the last 12 weeks as I have just been trying to take it all in and savor every moment with my baby. I am amazed how far we have both come since the moment I first held her in my arms. She's smiling now, almost sitting up on her own, holding her head up high and proud, laughing, cooing. She's no longer just this cute squishy cuddly object, but a tiny person in her own right. And me? I no longer really remember my life before her. Life without midnight feedings and diaper changes seems like a distant memory. It's amazing and hard to believe that not four months ago she was still just a dream. It truly does feel like just yesterday that I held her in my arms for the first time. Whether or not I will have the opportunity to bare witness to all her firsts, I will cherish every minute I spend with her. A wise working-mom friend of mine told me, "Well, I can promise you that you'll cherish every minute you have with her since the will be so few and far between."

And now I'm off to relish my last weekend free from other obligations. 

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What you got if you ain't got love?
The kind that you just wanna give away
It's okay to open up
Go ahead and let the light shine through

I know it's hard on a rainy day
You wanna shut the world out
And just be left alone
But don't run out on your faith

'Cause sometimes that mountain you've been climbing
Is just a grain of sand
And what you've been out there searching for forever
Is in your hands

And when you figure out
Love is all that matters after all
It sure makes everything else
Seem so small

It's so easy to get lost inside
A problem that seems so big at the time
It's like a river that's so wide
It swallows you whole

While you're sitting around thinking 'bout what you can't change
And worrying about all the wrong things
Time's flying by, moving so fast
You better make it count 'cause you can't get it back

Sometimes that mountain you've been climbing
Is just a grain of sand
And what you've been out there searching for forever
Is in your hands

Oh, and when you figure out
Love is all that matters after all
It sure makes everything else
Seem so small!

Sometimes that mountain you've been climbing
Is just a grain of sand
And what you've been out there searching for forever
Is in your hands

And then you figure out
Love is all that matters after all
It sure makes everything else
Oh, it sure makes everything else
Seem so small

"So Small" Carrie Underwood

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I was just talking to my dear husband the other night about how new mothers never really get to process the whole birth experience. One minute you are pregnant, the next minute (or 19 hours in my case) you are caring for a newborn and your whole world has shifted off its axis. Somewhere in there, you went through this hugely intense experience. But, by the time you have left the delivery room and are holding your new baby in your arms, the memory of it all is already starting to fade. And it occurred to me, in the midst of this pondering, that having a record of the actual experience someplace (minus 99/9% of the gore) might be useful one day. I remember asking my mother tons of questions about my birth and getting few answers. Time has a way of doing that to ones memory. And so, mostly for my myself, but also for you, my dear Amelia, in case you ever want to know: The story of your birth,

It was a cold March morning. We were getting ready for work just like we did every day back then. Going about the motions. Then, just as I stepped out of the shower, I felt a trickle of water down my leg (or so I thought). But then I realized that it was actually warm. And then it dawned on me. I stumbled downstairs to the smell of fresh coffee and tentatively said, "uh, honey, I think my water just broke." And then came the gush. And then we were certain. We took our time calling the doctor and getting to the hospital. We made sure to eat and shower and do all things necessary around the house. The whole experience was strangely calm. Not at all how either of us had pictured it-we would remark on this fact numerous times to each other as we prepped for the hospital. Our plans to labor through the early part at home vanished as we were instructed to go straight to the hospital. We arrived, and then things got scary for a while.

You hadn't dropped like they thought you had. They weren't sure you were in the right position. They were afraid you might not fit through the birth canal. We were bombared with these detials like the onset of a hurricane. We were terrified.I spent the next seven hours confined to bed. praying, and watching movies to keep my mind off things. I was in little pain at this point as things were going slow. I was told I had until 7pm to go into active labor on my own or I would be induced. That number haunted me like a nightmare during those first hours as we were so hoping for a natural and drug free birth. Eventually, we were allowed to walk the halls. Your father was the most fabulous labor coach. I could not have done it without him.

I went into active labor finally around 3pm, The pain was a welcome feeling at this point. I was toughing it out. 7pm came and went and I didn't even give it a thought. Your back was turned to my back. This is called back labor. It was beyond painful, but I just kept talking to you and focusing on the task at hand. Toughing it out on contraction at a time. Each wave of pain gave me new found strength I never thought I had.  Fast forward to 8pm or so.

I am told at this point that labor needs to be augmented with the dreaded pitocin. You just were not ready to come out quite yet and the doctors were getting frustrated. Your father and I were angry. We fought the doctor and said we did not want the medicine. Eventually, we lost that battle.   Fast forward to 11:15pm or so...

The pain is so intense now I can barely breathe. I am told that I have not progressed at all in the last half hour. I finally realize that I can no longer do this on my own. I am at my breaking point and I know. I  literally cannot bear the pain any longer and still remember to breathe. I beg for anesthesia. It cannot come fast enough.

11:40pm-I am rolled onto my back, the medication already taking the edge off the pain. For some reason, I take note of the time on the wall. This time, 11:40pm, will become imprinted on my memory, like a postage stamp from a foreign country you've never visited but always dream of. It becomes one of the few things I remember vividly. And somehow, thinking about it, always conjures the experience of your birth in my mind with crystal clarity.

We spend the next two hours or so watching "There's something About Mary". I remember only half focusing, as I shivered from the medication, and grew more and more excited to finally meet you face to face. I felt, at this point, like I was in heaven and had just left hell. An interesting paradox that did not escape me.

1:40am-I am told to push. It comes easily now. I am chatting with the doctor, with your father, with your Grandma. It is hard work, but nothing compared to earlier. I take note of the fact that you just really wanted to be born on Wednesday, and that is what you were waiting for all this time. Or was it the lucky 11? Who knows. Your birth is calm, serene, and beautiful. The room is still and quiet as you make your entrance into this world. You are beautiful. Your father cuts the cord. We all stare at you in wonder, 

2:03am-You are born. I am relieved, but no sooner are you placed on my stomach for me to hold, then you are whisked away to the NICU because you inhaled too much fluid on your way out. We are frightened and trying to keeo our spirits up. I am missing you terribly. The brief moment after your birth feels like a tease.

3:03am-I am wheeled to the NICU to see you. We are not allowed to stay. I cry all the way to our room. I am crushed to have to leave you.

6:30am-You are FINALLY, finally delivered to us with a clean bill of health (Thank you God). We bask in your beauty and the miracle that is you. And our life begins again. We are somehow the same and yet totally different. I marvel at the fact that in such a short time I can no longer remember what life was like without you in it.

We finally got our miracle. 

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It occurred to me today that I have not posted on this here blog in quite some time. For those of you not aware, my dear daughter turned out to be just fine. Since my last post she has had numerous trips to doctors, specialists, and the wholey hell that is the ER for various medical reasons that I shall not expound upon here, but she is fine. My poor little daughter has had more tests and procedures in her short little life than I had in the 27 years before I started trying to get pregnant with her. I feel for her, and I have many new found annoyances with the medical community and there oh so over the top fears of litigation that often lead to unnecessary tests.

And stepping beyond my dear daughter, I have recently found myself at the center of my own mini medical drama. I received a phone call from my employer today informing me that I was exposed to TB while at work and pregnant. I was exposed for a good long time as well. This, does not a happy camper make. I was ready to hand in my resignation right then and there. Alas, I will not. What I will do is beg for the blood test instead of the skin test so as not to expose the poor babe through my milk supply. And then, I will pray. I will pray that I do not end up on a cocktail of meds that leaves me unable to continue to nurse my beloved daughter.

I have been doing far too much praying that (insert medical drama of the hour here) turns out negative lately. Seriously.

Alas, an apple a day does not always keep the doctor away

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Medical Center Employee: Hi, Mrs. X, I'm calling to confirm Amelia's appt. for tomorrow.

Me: OK.

MCE: Has she had a fever in the last week?

Me: No.

MCE: Good. We're located at XXX building, XX floor.

Me: OK

MCE: Please arrive fifteen minutes early

Me: OK

MCE: And no lotions or powders for 24 hours before the test.

Me: Ok

MCE: Oh, and does she have any dry skin?

Me: Yes

MCE: Is it on her arms?

Me: Um, I don't know, let me check (while trying to yank on daughter's sleeve)..uh, not really

MCE: Ok, good. See you tomorrow

Me: OK

We hang up. Being the anxious new parent that I am, I decide to double check her arms, as she is currently wearing long sleeves and I could not really get a good look while on the phone. I notice more dry skin than I originally thought.

Me: Hello MCE, I just spoke to you a minute ago about my daughter's appt. tomorrow. Well, I noticed some more dry skin on her arms. Is that going to be a problem?

MCE: Well, how bad is it?

Me: (dumbfounded as I  was originally told by the pediatrician that some dry skin on newborns is normal). Um, not that bad. Is this going to be a problem? Will it cause some kind of false positive or something (with a not so subtle hint of hysteria creeping into my voice)?

MCE: (laughing amusedly) Um, probably not, but it wreaks havoc on the sensors they try to use

Me (starting to panic): Um, so what do I do?

MCE: Put some lotion on it today. THat should be fine.

Me: Uh, ok

MCE: Bye

I hang up again, now terrified that I will somehow screw up this test because of her dry skin and "wreak havoc" on the sensors (yes, those were her exact words). I put lotion on her, then remember the no lotion in the 24 hours before the test rule I was told in the first phone call. It is now 22 hours before said test (at the time of lotion application). I am now terrified that I will scew up the test because I put lotion on her. Sometimes, I really hate the medical community.  The plan: Go to test at appointed time, lotion in tow, discuss this with person doing testing. Hope that at worst we have to wait another two hours at testing facility until we reach 24 hours post lotion application.

Current Mood: Terrified and angry

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Dear Amelia,

You are almost three weeks old. I can hardly believe it. Seems like only yesterday that I heard your first cry and held you in my arms for the first time. I am so excited and happy to have you in my life. And yet, I am gripped by a terrifying fear right now. I hope to be telling you this story one day with a bit of nervous laughter and a "oh, how hard that was, but we made it through" air. For you see, my dear sweet, innocent little baby, tomorrow you have to have a test that you parents are downright terrified of. Never, in a million years, looking at your angelic face and your sweet smile, would we have imagined that we might have given you a deadly illness that will claim your life far too soon. Of all the things we worried about, of all the fears we had, this one did not even cross our minds. And here we are, staring down the barrel of what might be a heavily loaded gun. And we are beside ourselves with fear. But, we'll be strong for you little one. We'll face this challenge with as much courage as we can muster. And most importantly, we'll love you always no matter what the outcome tomorrow.

And now, I say a little prayer, Please, oh please, Dear God, let our little angel just be a carrier. Please. We'd give our lives for her health.

I love you baby girl,

Mommy

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