Party Time! (No, not really...)

I have a reason I have not posted in a while!  Really I do.  It appears that the last time I wrote, my body was getting ready to start making another baby.  And since then...my body has been exhausted by said baby making. (Not the funny-business kind of "baby-making."  Actual baby growing.)   I'm nauseated all the time, fall asleep on the couch no later than 8, and pretty much feel like crap!  (Please refer to the first three posts of this blog for more details.  It's a repeat, folks.)

One of the really great things about having your second baby though is that you nearly immediately have a full-on belly!  Yay for me.    Of course, it's still not the round cute little basketball looking belly.  It's just the belly that makes your pants not fit.  Although good thing for me I never quite grew out of wearing my maternity jeans!  (I just love that stretchy waistband...)  So, I just continue to wear the same stretchy pants I've been wearing for the past, oh  let's see, 18 months now, and I feel really good about that.

Some interesting facts: I will have been pregnant for two New Year's Eves in a row, two Valentine's Days and Super Bowls, and two birthdays!  Good times.  I'm telling you, come October, I will be a partying fool.  Babycakes should make his or her arrival sometime in September, I'll give my self a couple of weeks recoup, and then it's on like Donkey Kong.

So, yes, Noah will have a very close little sibling here soon.  Not sure how he'll feel about sharing me.  But I will say, he is a very independent little man.  He goes headstrong into every obstacle and adventure in his path.  Or is it head first?  Both, in this case I suppose.  But he is a tough cookie and as Grandma says, very advanced, very advanced.

He's crawling like a speed demon every where, and pulling himself up and cruising around.  His expanding palate now appreciates chunky stew, mashed bananas and apples, puffs, and our fine selection of wood furniture.  He has three sort of odd looking vampire teeth appearing up top, and the two little buck teeth down below.  He possesses a full head of man-like, thick luxurious hair, which is slightly strange but nevertheless adorable.  And he is working on getting to be 3 feet tall (32.5 inches and counting...)

He is still the happiest baby on the block, and has this amazing belly laugh that I can't get enough of. And boy can he sleep!  He's actually quite perfect.  Not that I'm biased.

And he's almost one.  Which makes me want to cry.  Pretty soon Daddy will start being the favorite and I'll get tossed aside. Sigh.  But until then I've got a leg up and I won't let it go to waste.

Time Keeps on Slippin....

It's been too long since i've written.  The short 15 word updates on Facebook trick me into thinking I'm actually keeping a record of Noah's life, but they are no substitute for sitting down and scratching it all out.

Pregnancy feels like it lasts forever, and then everything else speeds by so fast you don't have time to breathe.  I held Noah and looked in the mirror yesterday, and said to Mat, I can't believe this boy was wrapped up in my belly 7 months ago.  He now weighs 23 pounds, is 30 inches tall, and has so much hair styled in a comb over he looks like a miniature man.

He is gorgeous, vibrant, the life of the party.  He is quick to laugh and slow to lose patience.  One flash of that smile will win anyone over, and he uses it like a pro already.  

In 7 months he has learned to sit, stand, and say Dada.  He can grab little rice puffs and bring them to his mouth.  He belly laughs at his sister, and is starting to sing along (dadaaa, daaaada, daaada seems to be his favorite) to nursery rhyme songs.  He has two teeth and a big ol' belly.  Just this week he's been getting on his hands and knees and rocking back and forth, ready to launch.

The 7 months before that, he grew from a grain of rice into a full-fledged baby, with all the parts and pieces he would ever need to navigate this world.

The 7 months before that.  Hmmm.  Let's see.  I think I cleaned my closets and ordered a new pair of shoes.  The discrepancy of progress is quite staggering. The brute force of new life also is.

I've been packing Noah's old clothes away, his tiny, unimaginable onesies and overalls and sweaters worn once.  I can't wait to see what he looks like as a little boy; what he has to say when he can finally talk.  And yet the desire to hold his newborn body on my shoulder just once more is so strong it drives me to tears.

The only way I have to hold on is by doing this.  By bringing myself back, making note of the feelings, the steps, the small and big milestones that make up a life.  My memory is horrible, and so this I must do.  His future embarrassment by his mother depends on it.

  

Daddy's Little Man

I found this picture of Mat floating around the house and I just couldn't believe the resemblance.  I'm starting to wonder if I'm really Noah's mother.   My mom and sisters tried really hard to convince me that he looked like Steve...but I guess there's not much more to say about that.

Noah Dean is getting to be so big.  I can't believe he's now 6 months old.  The time really does fly by, and I think about how he was kicking me in the gut just a few months ago.

I got really lucky.  I have a sweetheart.  Smiley and sleeps through the night.  He really does love his Mommy.

Yes, He's Really Only Four Months Old.

I once knew a baby that I lovingly referred to as "Monster Baby." This baby had beautiful blond hair, deep blue eyes, and was HUGE. I mean MONSTROUS. Hence the name. Every time I saw this baby, I couldn't believe the largess. Taller than any other baby. Gargantuan thighs. Chunky Monkey. This baby has now grown into a lovely, gorgeous, regular-sized child, and I deduce that that was just a stage.

 I now am the parent of my very own Monster Baby. The Bean is growing like a beanstalk; they know me in the kids section of Target as I venture every week to purchase ever-larger sizes for my son. He currently wears 9 month onsies. At 4 months. At his appointment last week, he measured nearly 28 inches, which apparently is off the charts in the percentile ranking. His weight, at 16.5 lbs, falls into the 75th percentile. So does his head measurement, of which I can't quite figure out the purpose except to let us know that he either has a really big brain (yay!) or an abnormally large noggin for his age (boo.) I'm sticking with the brain thing. (Side note: if they measured ears, I'm sure that Noah's would be record-breaking as well. I've never seen flaps like these. Except in his Daddy's baby pictures. They are adult sized. Adult elephant, that is. And don't you ever tell him I said that.)

 Back to his weight. The lower ranking is fortunate, I suppose, in that he is not superfat. Just really, really long. But as his thighs expand in circumference, multiplying their rolls, I am left to wonder how much longer we can keep this up. The purchasing of luxury-priced baby formula is what I'm talking about. Because, of course, my son can't just stick with the Gerber or whatever. He must eat the super super sensitive allergy tummy formula stuff, that costs about $100 every week. Holy sham, Batman. This year could've bought me two Gucci bags with that payout. I guess I should be thankful, because if I had been able to breast feed my boobs probably would have petered out into potato sacks by this point.

 This week also marked my first ever up the back diaper blowout. I guess I should be grateful it took this long. But as if it could get any more cliche, I ran out of wipes right in the middle of the fiasco. There was poo everywhere - under my fingernails, in my hair, in his hair, my forearm, my chest, his face, his changing table cover and then table after I took the cover off, etc etc etc. Grody. When do these start getting firm?

 On a lighter note, he also started laughing last week. We can't figure out the key yet to get him to do it on cue, although it seems to have to involve his sister acting like a few screws are loose. But having babies that eat too much and bankrupt you and then poo all over you to rub it in, well, the laughing makes it all worth it. I can't stand it when he laughs, it is really too cute for words to even explain. Though if you have kids, I'm sure you know just what I'm talking about.

Why I Chose Homebirth Part I

I started my venture into homebirth really just with a desire for a little more care and compassion from my medical team. The thought of having a natural childbirth, let alone a homebirth, had never even crossed my mind after I found out I was pregnant, until...

I became less and less impressed by my medical care from my OB/GYN. I suppose at the beginning I thought I wanted my doctor to just "take care of everything" for me. And you know, they are happy to oblige. In fact, I'd venture to say that many OB/GYNs appreciate you letting them be the expert and just tell you what to do. This was summed up by doctor at my final visit to her when I asked her about the childbirth classes. She said, you know, go ahead and take it if you want to. But once you're in labor and get to the hospital the nurses will just show you what to do.

I don't blame them for this attitude. Women, and society, encourage doctors to be the experts so that we don't have to go to the trouble of actually figuring this stuff out ourselves. They play perfectly into the role that we ourselves have set them up to play. "Just let the doctor handle it." After all, we've turned over our births to hospitals and medical care for the last 80 years. But think about that statement for a moment. It's only been in the last 80 years that medical care has created longevity for the human race. And granted, medical advancements deserve their kudos for sure. Because we can do C-sections and have neo-natal care, women and babies who have experienced true, dire emergencies have survived. But humans have been giving birth for over 100,000 years! Birth is not a 'medical event' like other maladies that plague us.

However, it is now treated like one. And you fall right into to the overworked insurance driven assembly line. This was my body, my child, my first pregnancy though! At least pretend like you care! But when I had to chase my doctor down the hallway to ask for my blood test results, and she responded with ‘well if there was anything wrong I would have obviously told you,’ I was over it.

But, the argument goes, `medicine makes our lives better.' And there is no denying that it does. Take cancer for instance. Up until recently, people died often and painfully from cancer and there was nothing we could do about it. Now, cancer treatment saves many lives. But therein lies the difference: up until recently, most women gave birth extremely successfully without medical intervention. Now, we still give birth successfully, but we expose our bodies and our babies to all sorts of interventions that most of us don't need. For thousands of years, cancer treatments weren't very successful, and now they are so much better. But births have always been pretty darn successful, when nature was just left to take its course, and yet now we allow medicine to intervene and end up exposing ourselves to more risk - of surgery, of infection.

But why experience all that pain when you just don't have to anymore? Because for most women who choose to birth naturally, and especially who choose home birth, its not about the pain. In fact, that plays little into the decision. The fact is, when you choose to have more personal, detailed, and intimate care through a midwife, you automatically choose childbirth without pain medication. The two go hand in hand. I’m not a martyr for pain and I didn’t explore this choice to prove to everyone how brave and strong I am. But I wanted a more intimate pregnancy and birth care experience and for that you sign up for natural childbirth.

Choosing your care with a midwife is about the ability to control the environment in which you have an extremely emotional and personal, life-changing event. For me, being laid out flat on my back for hours without feeling my legs seemed worse than labor pains. Having an IV and an epidural and a fetal monitor and a catheter attached to me for hours seemed worse than feeling everything but being able to pee, walk around and eat when I choose.

Home births for low risk women are just as safe and successful as hospitals births. There is plenty of data out there that has shown this to be true. And an argument can be made that home births are actually safer, because they don't introduce a bunch of medical interventions that could have side effects and risks associated with them.

SO, back to my OB/GYN. Didn't I WANT my doctor and the nurses to just take care of things? Well...no. My lack of knowledge was starting to instill fear in me and now I want some answers. I kinda want to know what's happening beforehand! I AM that kind of person. Some people aren't, and I can understand. But I've never been one to just turn my body over to the medical establishment. I want to know what they are doing to me. What the risks are. What my choices are. And so far, me and my OB/GYN have not discussed any of that. In fact, we haven't talked about choices at all. It's as if, because I'm seeing her, I'm already on track to go full on with IVs, Pitocin, epidurals and laying flat on my back for hours. It's as if I've already consented to them doing whatever they decide to do for intervention, including breaking my water, drugs, and C-Section. Now, maybe someday I will need these things. But at this point I haven't even been given information on how this could alternately go. I know enough women who have birthed naturally to know that there is not one way only to do this.

After I voiced my concerns on my blog, I heard from my cousin Shannon. She has birthed naturally and gave me some great resources. So I started reading. I started informing myself. I will tell you that I'm not going to get up on a soapbox and now declare that birthing naturally is the 'BEST' way, the way you should do it, the way every woman should do it. The birthing process is very personal and each woman must decide what is important to them. If you feel safer bringing a newborn into this world at a hospital (and I totally get this) then that is what will make your birth experience go that much smoother and go for it, sister. What I will preach, as loud as anyone can hear, is that each woman has the right to be informed and to know facts and all of the choices before going through one of the biggest moments, one of the most important rites of passage of her life.

So let me tell you what I didn't know. What my doctor didn't tell me.

1. The C-Section rate is at an all-time high, around 33% in the USA. At the higher-income hospital that I was going to attend, its at about 45% (Higher income = better insurance. Get it?) In 1965, the rate was 4.5%. The rate was 50% lower in the 1990's. This is nearly twice as high as France's rate. The World Health Organization recommends a rate between 5-15%.
2. More babies in the USA are born Monday through Friday between 9 and 5 than on weekends or evening hours.
3. Despite spending the most in the world on health care, the U.S. has the second worst newborn mortality rate of the industrialized world.
4. The U.S. also has nearly the highest maternal mortality rate of the industrialized world.

There are a lot of factors that contribute to each of these statistics, and I'm not going to start throwing around conspiracy theories. What it does tell me is that the maternity industry is in serious need of some accountability and oversight.

What I've also discovered:

1. In European nations nearly 80% of births are carried out wiht the assistance of a midwife. (Less c-section, lower mortality rates...hmmm.)

2. In the U.S. it's less than 5%.

3. Midwives use less intervention overall, and nearly every study has shown that less intervention on average equals healthier babies and mothers.

4. Midwives do not have increased complication rates or death rates (despite general public opinion that this is a 'less safe' way to deliver) compared to hospitals in reference to low-risk women. They have lower rates.

So here's what else. The cycle of intervention seems to go like this: you get to the hospital and take up a bed. Often you arrive too soon, in very early labor, especially first time mothers, because you just don’t know how this works. The hospitals have money to make (C-sections are the most performed major surgery and a huge money maker for hospitals - and they have beds to turnover), your doctor has a family to go home to at night, so let's get this show on the road!

You are set up on an IV and given some Pitocin to start things moving, because early labor moves just too slowly for the modern medical establishment. You're also hooked to an Electronic Fetal Monitor that prohibits normal movements. You start laying around on your back, which is the worst position to be in for your baby and for you while you are in labor. (But its great for your medical team, makes monitoring you nice and easy.) Pitocin causes stronger than normal contractions, which hurt you and make your baby uncomfortable. Epidural!! Yes, that takes care of the increased pain (that your body is now not equipped to handle naturally) but it slows down contractions. You can't walk around (which promotes labor progress and pain relief) So...more Pitocin! Now your uterus is contracting like crazy and your baby is starting to get a little peeved and quite possibly has decreased oxygen intake. Unless he gets out fast, his heartrate starts to falter, and as soon as that happens the doctors start talking C-section. They have a lot less liability taking the process out of your hands at this point and doing surgery that they've done a million times before. Plus, it's quicker and more profitable.

Don't get me wrong here. My mother had an emergency C-section, my friends have had them. I am not suggesting that in some cases these aren't totally necessary. But with a C-section rate that is twice as high as the WHO recommended rate, something is amiss. C-sections are major abdominal surgery. In my homebirth group in smalltown rural PA, one woman’s baby was sliced during a C-section, and one woman had an infection from a botched epidural before a C-section that kept her in the hospital for 6 months. (Why do you think they chose homebirth for their next babies?!) Those aren’t awesome odds. And from what I've researched so far, it starts with the beginning intervention. This is not something that my doctor talked to me about.

So apart from rare complications, what’s the big deal? You get your baby out, you go on your merry way, why does it matter how exactly it happens? To some people it doesn't. The end result - a healthy baby - is all that matters and the rest is just a means to get there. And that is any woman's right and choice to feel that way. For me, no matter how you slice it this is the first bonding experience I'll have with my child. A child's birth is something you always remember, and it is a rite of passage. And I want to know, at the least, how this process has gotten so far askew from the way women used to do it. For thousands of years. As far as that end result - the healthy baby - we don't yet know all of the complications that these drugs can have on our bodies and our children's bodies.

Medicine continues to evolve, and doctors continue to try new and improved ways to get this inherently natural process done. As late as the 90's a drug called Cytotec was used to induce labor in women who had previously had C-Sections. This drug caused ruptured uteruses and an epidemic of stillbirths. It is now used in abortion procedures instead. That was in the 90s!!

Also, some very interesting research is coming to light (see Michel Odent, MD) on mothers' naturally produced "love hormones" like oxytocin. Oxytocin is secreted during labor to induce contractions and it also performs a host of other functions. The synthetic version, Pitocin, does not have the same characteristics and reduces the amount the mother produces naturally. Research is suggesting that medical intervention is also intervening in the transfer of these hormones during critical moments between a mother and her newborn, potentially affecting immediate bonding and also potentially affecting the foundational groundwork for the infant's capacity for loving relationships later in her lifetime. This is crazy stuff!!

Who knows where all of this research will lead. My point in all of this is that when we mess with the natural order of things in the name of progress, convenience or comfort, we don't always know where we'll end up. The hormones in our food are now being linked to premature menstruation in girls. High fructose corn syrup is linked to an obesity epidemic and diabetes. The chemicals in our cleaners, plastics, and food is linked to alarming rates of cancer. Things we were told were safe we are questioning now. We're talking major shifts in our health despite all of our "progress." We have a right to be informed before we make choices.

I started off on this journey not remembering a damn thing from my sex-ed classes and not knowing at all how this pregnancy thing worked. I thought I'd just go into labor at the hospital and be done with it. But my lack of knowledge instilled fear in me, and I needed to know more. And I feel so much better for searching for answers. I'm not a martyr for pain, I'm not a hippy living on a commune. I'm not looking for a medal for choosing to go natural - and as was pointed out to me by my girlfriend no one issues these medals anyway. But I did want to know what was going to happen to me and my baby. And that's what all women have the right to know too.

Fortunately for me my labor progressed fairly quickly and uneventfully. It was extraordinarily painful, more than one can ever anticipate. And believe me, if I had been offered pain medication while in the throes of this experience that was so excruciating I was passing about between contractions, I would have said Hell Yes!! But as soon as it was over, I lay on my own bed, with my husband beside me and my baby on me and breathed a big sigh of relief. The pain was done. It was just joy. I looked out my own window. My midwives waited on us for hours afterwards, brought us food and drinks and cold washcloths. They did some laundry. And they came back every day for the next 3 days.

And as I wrote before, after a few days I realized that I was not successfully breastfeeding. My body just wouldn’t produce enough milk, and so I had to turn to formula. I really wanted to breastfeed, and as you might imagine it is heavily promoted in the natural childbirthing community. But my body just wouldn’t cooperate. No matter how hard you try, some things just do not go as planned. My birth could have been the same way, and my next one could go totally awry. You just never know. But you do your best to make informed choices, and then you let the rest up to God. And you let go.

I urge everyone to watch The Business of Being Born which is eye-opening if nothing else. It is probably the most unbiased documentary on modern childbirth and illustrates all choices.

Also look at The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth for an in-depth and fully supported discussion on the interventions used during a hospital birth.

Read Pushed: The Painful Truth About Childbirth and Modern Maternity Care

Tummyaches, Tail-less Cats and Tooth Fairies

Thank God for the internet! What did moms do in the 20th century to diagnose all their babies' maladies? Rely on doctors? Pshht. I've now been able to attribute Noah's whimpering to GERD, silent acid reflux, tracheamalacia and laryngomalacia. His baby acne and cradle cap may now be a sign of serious eczema. He may need twenty nine prescriptions and years of therapy. Of course, I may need to run this all by my doctor first just to make sure she concurs. But I feel like the Babycenter.com blogs have given me all the answers I need.

Well, that was until my sitter came over. She's in her 50's and has been a nanny for many years. And she's becoming a doula, so she offered up her services to me for free for a couple of mornings. She fed Noah and I said "See, you hear that!! His windpipes are rattling!" And she looked at me strangely and said, no, I think that's pretty normal. It's called 'breathing.' "But he hasn't pooped in, like, a day!" And she said, poops change. No need to worry. "But he spits up sometimes, and gets cranky, and, well, he has GAS!" Yes, she said. What you've just described is a newborn.

"But...but...." Val, she said, you need to relax. He seems really happy and healthy to me.

Sigh.

Being a new mom is really hard. (I can hear all you seasoned pros rolling your eyes right now.) But when you haven't spent much time around babies, having a new one suddenly pop into your life - I'm HEEERE! DO something with me! - can be challenging. I have no point of reference by which to compare all of Noah's behaviors. In fact, I was going to call them 'quirks' just now, but I have no flippin clue if they are even quirks!

I feel really helpless and clueless right now. Couple that with lack of sleep, I've become a desperate neurotic. I've changed his formula 5 times now. (Side note - I'm not breastfeeding, to my despair and heartbreak. Remember when I was complaining during pregnancy that my boobs weren't getting any bigger? Seems that was a sign I should've brought to the attention of my caregivers. After I delivered, boobs still didn't get bigger. No milk for Noah, which I didn't realize until 3 days into his life (did I say 'clueless?') when he became extremely dehydrated and we had to rush him to the doctor and start him on formula. Big sigh. ) I give him Mylicon and Gripe Water every time he toots. I've physically examined his poop with my fingers and then compared it to photos I found online.

He doesn't sleep enough, except on the days when I think he may be sick because he's sleeping too long. He likes his pacifier, except 50% of the time when he acts like I dipped it in acid before insertion. He grunts, he groans, he strains, he kicks. He poops three times in one day and then none the next. He can eat 8 oz in feeding after feeding and then not eat for 7 hours straight.

I need some sanity!

Yes, it's been a challenging week. It actually started with an innocent trip to Costco. Mat, Katya, Noah and I all pile into the car to hit the megastore on Sunday. Big mistake, because unless you have been living under a rock you know that Sunday is Sample Day! There are about one million people at Costco. And their germs. All crowding around the ends of the rows to wait for twenty minutes to get a teaspoon of tapioca pudding. Katya can't sit still so she is running around, in front of and into other people's carts. She finally decides to crawl under the cart to ride on the flat part beneath the basket. This is a bad idea, as you can imagine, and I express as much to Mat who says, 'well, if she gets hurt it's her own damn fault,' because we've told her several times not to do it.

Do you ever watch Tosh.0 and his "Guess What Happens Next!" segments? Let's play that.

Guess what happens next? That's right, Katya gets hurt. Her hair, while dragging on the ground, gets caught underneath a wheel of the shopping cart. She starts screaming, which is not a balm on my nerves if you can believe it. She ends up fine, scared but not scarred, and we finally finish up the harrowing journey with our pack of 147 razors and 55 cans of shaving cream. Which were well worth it.

Oh, and the day gets even better.

We head home and start unloading groceries. Mat's got his hands full as he walks in the door, and he sees our cat, Butter, do just what you'd expect any sane cat to do after having been sequestered in a house with Coco. Butter bolts for the door. Now, Butter's done this a million times, and though he goes Mach 10 getting out the door, he doesn't actually go anywhere. He sits on the front porch and pretends he's an alleycat. But even though we know this, we always try to keep him away from the door because we are scared that one day he might find out that life is better on the outside.

So anyway, as Mat sees Butter bolt for the door....Guess what happens next?

That's right. Mat slams the door hard with his foot to keep Butter inside. However, all Mat managed to do was to keep half of Butter's tail inside. Mat drops all the groceries and yells and I come running. Remnants of Butter stick to the door and frame. As you can imagine, his tail is pretty beat up - not severed but nearly. Mat runs him to the vet - remember of course that this is a Sunday and the normal (i.e. less expensive) vet is closed so he has to go to the emergency 24-hour (i.e. mortgage your home to pay for) vet. Four hours later he trudges back and informs the family that Butter will be returning to us minus an appendage, and Mat will be returning minus $1500.

Then we had our rough week at home. Fussy, fussy, fussy, cry, cry cry, etc of which I've explained above and in our last post.

The week ended with a barbeque and corn on the cob, the latter which dislodged Katya's first baby tooth. She was so excited, she's been talking for months about how all the kids in her class have been losing teeth and peer pressuring her to lose hers. So yay!! The Tooth Fairy is coming!!

Except....well, Guess what happened next?

That's right. The Tooth Fairy, in his exhausted state, fell asleep and forgot to visit Katya's pillow. And I thought Noah's crying was unbearable. Katya's up at 5:30 am and bawling in our bedroom. "The tooth fairy never came! And now I lost my tooth and she's never coming!" Seems in her state of distress she grabbed the tooth from under her pillow but then dropped it somewhere on the floor and couldn't find it. Cue Daddy. I send him up with a dollar bill (what's the going rate for baby teeth anyway?) and we concoct a devious plan to try to save this child from a traumatic memory.

Mat sees his chance when Katya goes to the bathroom. He can't find her tooth anywhere either, so the Tooth Fairy quickly places the dollar under a stray pillow and hatches his plot. Katya comes back in and he tells her to keep looking under her pillows. Yay! The Tooth Fairy must have come while she was in the bathroom!! (And then, "Is that all?" she says looking at the dollar bill.) She runs downstairs reenergized. And we all now can carry on with our day.

The thought never crossed Katya's mind, of course, that there may be a correllation between Mat's appearance in her bedroom and the 'Tooth Fairy' miraculously visiting at the same time. Kids - you can tell 'em anything!

It's a Journey...

We've now officially left happy Newbornland and have entered the slums of Betsville.

You know happy Newbornland! Your baby is so cute, so smushy, and even though you haven't slept since you were pregnant, you don't care. Cause you're happy you're not pregnant anymore, and you're so happy to see you new lil munchkin, and he sleeps for 22 hours a day in your arms, in the car, at a restaurant. Hell he'd probably sleep through a Lady Gaga concert. And people send you things, and bring you dinner, and visit and help and all is right with the world. I mean, did you see my last post? I was blabbering about freakin' flowers blooming and fuzzy ducklings!

And then its four weeks later. No one cooks dinners for you anymore. Everyone goes back to their own lives. And you're left with your child. Yet, it's not the same child, it seems. This one is a dandruffy, pimply-faced mutant with weird hair. He's decided not to sleep anymore. Ever again. And if you try to make him he will cry in your face with his newly discovered windpipes. Oh, and you better watch out cause he will pee and poop on you too, just to prove his point.

Ah, yes. The slums of Betsville. This is where the laundry sits mildewing in the washer for days, having been long forgotten until the last spit-up-free onsie is desperately needed but can't be had because it has grown mold. This is where crusty dishes pile up night after night. Half eaten bowls of cereal sit curdling on the table because you were interrupted mid-bite and never would return. Come on! This is my cereal time - is nothing sacred?! A cup of coffee spilt as you tried to constrain the flailing limbs of your baby congeals under the side table, never having seen a paper towel. Used bottles and baby-care books (useless, btw) and dirty diapers lay strewn about. And you smell and look like a homeless person. Spit-up spots your t-shirt and crusts in your hair. Your teeth have film. Your fingernails are ragged, your legs unshaven, and your underwear unchanged for who knows how long. And yet, having existed on only 3 broken hours of sleep a day for the past four weeks, you are so disoriented you don't give a shit!

This gets funner, right?

You are counting down the days until your child will start to sleep through the night. Your husband is counting down the days until he can "be intimate" with you. He's imagining role play. Ok. Let's role play. You tell him to imagine himself as a woman with torn privates, a handful of itchy stitches holding together said privates, and a plethora of screaming hemorrhoids who exists on 3 broken hours of sleep a night. Wanna do it?

Things will get better. I'm sure of it. I mean, I've got friends with kids who actually smile once in awhile. Can't wait.