Today I brought Clio by my office to show her off. I know that isn't the humble thing to say but it is the truth. I totally took her to my office to show her around to everyone. I wanted to post a sign around her neck that read, "Product of Leif + Bree. Brought to you by 2 1/2 hours of pushing." I am a proud mamma, what else is there to say about that.
I dread the day I have to leave her at daycare and go back to work. I absolutely hate just the idea of going back to work. It makes me sick to my stomach and I want to cry. I try to tell myself that it is only going to be three days a week but it doesn't seem to help ease my anxiety very much. If I did not have a ridiculously large student loan to pay off I would stay home with her. But I do and so I can't. Had I known what my future would look like at this point I never would have gone back to school to get the degree I have. Hindsight...
But at least I like the people I work with, right? That is something.
I've got until mid-October (probably) before I have to make that sad, lonely long commute to work without my girl. The start of flu season. That sucks when you work in medicine. I'm going to be afraid to kiss my own child until next March.
Hmmph.
Anyway, I've still got the rest of the Summer (and in Los Angeles September is most definitely still Summer) to give her as many kisses as I can without the fear of passing on germs from my patients. Ugh. How do people do this without going crazy?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
a completely random post about being a mother, leif going back to work, and why it is the wee hours of the morning and i am awake writing this post
It is amazing how much you appreciate help with an infant after you've been on your own with one for awhile. Leif went back to work last week and so I've been on my own with Clio until a couple of days ago when her MeeMaw (my mom) came down to help out. I have to say, my hat is off to single parents. Seriously, this shit is hard work. Worth it, of course, but a whole hell of a lot of work. Between breast-feeding, diaper changes (Um, hello, Clio why do you find it necessary to poop right after I change your diaper every single time?), fussy-fixing, breast-pumping, laundry, showering, brushing teeth, and attempting to eat meals there is hardly time for anything else. Even when she asleep I hardly ever have the opportunity to take a nap with her. The last two times I made the attempt I was just starting to nod off either my phone rang (Oh no! Water is leaking in the downstairs apartment! Can you please turn off your kitchen water!) or she decided that a 45 minute nap was sufficient and as soon as those big blue eyes flicker open, Oh Lordy, it is of utmost important to get milk in her belly right away or else suffer her wrath.
Plus it had been in the upper 90s or low 100s all last week. Have I ever mentioned how we don't have AC? The heat was simply overwhelming so we ended up buying a portable unit to put in our bedroom so we didn't have a hot little infant on our hands everyday. All week (until Friday when it finally started to cool off) Clio and I spent our days and nights in a tiny little bedroom like hermits. Not a big deal for the girl but crazy-making for me.
I'm not complaining. No way. Just giving background as to why when MeeMaw came to visit last week I was super grateful. But what did Clio end up doing the entire time MeeMaw was here? She slept like a rock until right after MeeMaw left to go home. Seriously, she is such a great sleeper when we have company, the only times when I can't or don't want to take a nap. She's clever that way.
Just over the last few days she has taken to sucking on my finger to soothe herself to sleep. When she is awake it is very, very difficult to get her to sleep so my finger is a small price to pay for some relief. Her reluctance to fall asleep is great during the day. An awake baby is super fun (mostly) during the daylight hours but at two in the morning, which is what time it is right now, it is much less fun. I've noticed that I tend to bargain with her at these times, as if it is possible to bargain with a four week old infant. Go to sleep and mommy and daddy will buy you a pony or whatever animal now equates itself with privilege and spoiling.
We finally also made the decision to move her into her own bedroom and out of ours. Up until two nights ago she was sleeping in a co-sleeper in our bedroom but apparently she is a very vocal infant and her grunts and squeals and mewls, even when she is asleep, tend to keep me up at all times. I got tired of sleeping on the couch and waiting for Leif to bring her to me when she got fussy enough to wake him up. We had wanted to keep her in our room until she was at least two months old but it just became too much for me and I really missed sleeping next to my husband. The first night she was in her crib was the first night that I actually slept soundly during those three hour chunks of time between her feedings since she came home with us. So in her crib (or her Baby Jail as one of Leif's crunchy co-workers calls the evil cribs) she stays.
This weekend has been really great. I think having Leif gone during the weekdays made these days all the more special. Even before Clio I always looked forward to the weekend for the sole fact that Leif and I would get to spend quite a bit of time together, just hanging out. Now I know that the weekends are going to become even more precious to me since we hardly get to spend any time with each other anymore. I mean, we do spend time with each other, but not in the same way that we did before Clio. We were each others' whole world and now our world is occupied by an amazing little creature who demands all of our attention. I simply miss my husband but that is another post for another time. Maybe one when there isn't still sleep clouding over my eyes and their isn't a grunty little baby at my side who needs some rocking to tip her over from half-asleep to full-asleep.
But anyway what made this weekend especially good...We hung out with dear friends and for the first time in almost a year I was able to have a couple of alcoholic drinks. We had a visitor from my work, someone who insists that Clio know her as Gammy Sunny. I'll have to write something about her sometime, she is a most interesting woman. We visited with my sister and her two girls. Love them. The little one, Leela, turned two (I can hardly believe it) and she calls Clio, Kilo because she can't quite figure out the CL blend. While we were over there I was feeding Clio and Leela was fascinated with us. She just kept asking over and over again, "It eating?" Toddlers tend to find babies and breast-feeding fascinating. We went to the Farmer's Market, always a treat. We went for a walk and a picnic in the sun. We made bolognese from scratch. Leif and I managed to watch a whole movie, snuggled on the couch, while Clio slept soundly in her bouncy chair. It was wonderful.
But now the weekend is over and Leif is asleep in our bedroom and I am up with the baby.
Right now it would be super awesome if she would go from this:
To this:
C'mon Clio, you can do it! Do it for Momma!
Friday, September 2, 2011
work in progress
I make an attempt to weave the two together; the time in between and the now. A need to make them make sense together, somehow, to learn to live in both at once. My daughter in Chronos. My son in Kairos. I hold his pictures and trace his face and at the same time I feel my daughter stretching her life against my breast. The two seem so very far apart and I wonder how it is ever possible to bring them together, my two children, without having to exclude one or the other.
One so undeniably alive and present. The other so undeniably dead and missing.
I haven't figured this all out; how to be a good parent to my living child while simultaneously attempting to keep the memory of my dead one from also dying. Sometimes the thought crosses my mind that I should do just that; let his memory die and go into the same oblivion that he did. It would be easier to forget and to let the spinning of the world propel me with its forward momentum. I look at my daughter and often feel the compulsion to clip her brother's name from my tongue when it hangs there, waiting to be said. As if still longing for him somehow detracts from the love I have for her. Can I really give all my love to this child wiggling in my lap while sometimes still wanting to live in that in between time when her brother was still alive. Twenty-four minutes almost 18 months in my past.
There are still many times when I am in the shower when I cry out for him. I beg and plead to have him back. For just a day. For just an hour. To get to know him in the same way I know his sister. Not as the sick and dying baby in the sterile operating room or as the cold and still one in the recovery room but as the pink and living baby I hold in my arms now. A glimpse of what he could have been had things only turned out differently. I cry out that I want to feed him, to bathe him, to feel him against my skin.
But I keep my cries to myself, mostly. I fear judgment. I've always feared judgment from people who maybe think I am hanging on too much or that I need to let go of the past. I fear people thinking that I am incapable of mothering this living child because I can't tear myself away from the dead one. I fear people thinking to themselves, "Isn't she over this by now? He wasn't even a real baby yet." I fear people making a judgment that I must be depressed simply because I still miss my son when in actuality I am very grateful for the life I have with my husband and daughter. As I said in my last post, they are my light and I know how very fortunate I am to have them lighting up my world.
The fear of judgment isn't totally unfounded as I have come to learn. I hear the judgment in subtle tones from people we know. It is often so subtle I don't think those from which it comes even would realize it themselves.
"Now that Clio is here you can move on from the pain of losing George."
I also hear it in the silence. His name is hardly ever uttered. I cannot recall the last time someone, other than baby loss parents, asked us how we were dealing with our grief over George since Clio arrived. Her arrival and his absence are intwined for us in ways that other people just rarely acknowledge.
I fear even writing all this here for the possible judgment that some may have.
She has a living child now, why is she still writing about this? She should be grateful for her daughter.
I don't want George's death to overshadow the life of his sister. She is celebrated every moment I am breathing. I love her completely and I recognize how fortunate I am to have her . I take not a single cry or fussy moment for granted. But I also don't want her life to negate the importance of her brother's. How to keep that from happening I am not sure. I guess it is just a work in progress.
One so undeniably alive and present. The other so undeniably dead and missing.
I haven't figured this all out; how to be a good parent to my living child while simultaneously attempting to keep the memory of my dead one from also dying. Sometimes the thought crosses my mind that I should do just that; let his memory die and go into the same oblivion that he did. It would be easier to forget and to let the spinning of the world propel me with its forward momentum. I look at my daughter and often feel the compulsion to clip her brother's name from my tongue when it hangs there, waiting to be said. As if still longing for him somehow detracts from the love I have for her. Can I really give all my love to this child wiggling in my lap while sometimes still wanting to live in that in between time when her brother was still alive. Twenty-four minutes almost 18 months in my past.
There are still many times when I am in the shower when I cry out for him. I beg and plead to have him back. For just a day. For just an hour. To get to know him in the same way I know his sister. Not as the sick and dying baby in the sterile operating room or as the cold and still one in the recovery room but as the pink and living baby I hold in my arms now. A glimpse of what he could have been had things only turned out differently. I cry out that I want to feed him, to bathe him, to feel him against my skin.
But I keep my cries to myself, mostly. I fear judgment. I've always feared judgment from people who maybe think I am hanging on too much or that I need to let go of the past. I fear people thinking that I am incapable of mothering this living child because I can't tear myself away from the dead one. I fear people thinking to themselves, "Isn't she over this by now? He wasn't even a real baby yet." I fear people making a judgment that I must be depressed simply because I still miss my son when in actuality I am very grateful for the life I have with my husband and daughter. As I said in my last post, they are my light and I know how very fortunate I am to have them lighting up my world.
The fear of judgment isn't totally unfounded as I have come to learn. I hear the judgment in subtle tones from people we know. It is often so subtle I don't think those from which it comes even would realize it themselves.
"Now that Clio is here you can move on from the pain of losing George."
I also hear it in the silence. His name is hardly ever uttered. I cannot recall the last time someone, other than baby loss parents, asked us how we were dealing with our grief over George since Clio arrived. Her arrival and his absence are intwined for us in ways that other people just rarely acknowledge.
I fear even writing all this here for the possible judgment that some may have.
She has a living child now, why is she still writing about this? She should be grateful for her daughter.
I don't want George's death to overshadow the life of his sister. She is celebrated every moment I am breathing. I love her completely and I recognize how fortunate I am to have her . I take not a single cry or fussy moment for granted. But I also don't want her life to negate the importance of her brother's. How to keep that from happening I am not sure. I guess it is just a work in progress.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
the laughing heart
Yesterday Leif shared with me a poem by Charles Bukowski. Seldom does it happen that I come across a piece of writing that strikes me so deeply to the core that I feel like I must memorize it so as to never forget its message.
The Laughing Heart
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
Over the last two weeks I have felt much of that darkness again, not that it ever entirely left. Having Clio here has been magical but it has also crystalized for me what exactly was taken away from us when George died and that has been difficult for me to internalize again. I just miss him so very much and can't really fathom how I will never have him again.
Yet this poem has helped to remind me that I can choose to live out my days in the darkness of circumstance or I can choose to look for the light, wherever it may come from. The darkness will always be my companion but I choose whether or not to let it consume me. As Clio grows up I want to share with her the existence of her brother so that from his story and ours she will learn that even in the darkest moments of her life -and surely there will be moments that seem black as night- there will always be at least a small shimmer of light, even when it feels like all of the light in the world has been stolen away.
And surely there is so much light.
My Leif.
My Clio.
My life is my life and I will know it while I have it.
The Laughing Heart
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
Over the last two weeks I have felt much of that darkness again, not that it ever entirely left. Having Clio here has been magical but it has also crystalized for me what exactly was taken away from us when George died and that has been difficult for me to internalize again. I just miss him so very much and can't really fathom how I will never have him again.
Yet this poem has helped to remind me that I can choose to live out my days in the darkness of circumstance or I can choose to look for the light, wherever it may come from. The darkness will always be my companion but I choose whether or not to let it consume me. As Clio grows up I want to share with her the existence of her brother so that from his story and ours she will learn that even in the darkest moments of her life -and surely there will be moments that seem black as night- there will always be at least a small shimmer of light, even when it feels like all of the light in the world has been stolen away.
And surely there is so much light.
My Leif.
My Clio.
My life is my life and I will know it while I have it.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
afternoon nap
Clio is asleep, probably dreaming of flashing colors and lights; a shadow puppet show.
She is a rag doll after she eats, completely devoid of any concern at all. Peaceful. A floppy doll with a milky face.
So beautiful. So exhausting. So perfect. So worth it all.
I watch her and can't help but find my mind drifting over the chasm of the absence of her brother. I search for familiarity in her features. I beg to see her brother there too. My heart swells with love for my children and the tears flow in streams for missing the one who will always be forever gone.
My babies. My loves.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
she's finally here
About five hours after I wrote that last post I went into labor. I woke up with mild and erratic contractions a little after midnight on Saturday, August 13th but within three hours they were coming every five minutes so we decided to head over to the hospital fully expecting that they would dissipate like they always have.
As it turned out they did not go away...
Our daughter was born wiggly and squealing later that same day after about twenty hours of labor and two and half hours of pushing. She was 8 pounds 4 ounces and 21.5 inches long.
Right now we are all adjusting to having her home with us. I'm having a rough start to breast feeding (ouch) and with the recovery from a pretty severe tear during the VBAC (ouch and ouch). Leif is doing such a great job helping me, as well as doing the lion's share of work with our sweet girl.
We are completely smitten with her and every tiny little thing that she does. Seeing her makes every doubt, every fear, every pain well worth it a thousand times over.
Thank you all so much for the support you have given me. Truly, I am so grateful for every one of you who has been with us throughout this journey with George and to get his little sister here safe and sound. We only wish that we could have them both with us...
As it turned out they did not go away...
Our daughter was born wiggly and squealing later that same day after about twenty hours of labor and two and half hours of pushing. She was 8 pounds 4 ounces and 21.5 inches long.
Right now we are all adjusting to having her home with us. I'm having a rough start to breast feeding (ouch) and with the recovery from a pretty severe tear during the VBAC (ouch and ouch). Leif is doing such a great job helping me, as well as doing the lion's share of work with our sweet girl.
We are completely smitten with her and every tiny little thing that she does. Seeing her makes every doubt, every fear, every pain well worth it a thousand times over.
Clio Irene
August 13, 2011
Thank you all so much for the support you have given me. Truly, I am so grateful for every one of you who has been with us throughout this journey with George and to get his little sister here safe and sound. We only wish that we could have them both with us...
Friday, August 12, 2011
which way to go
I'm having a difficult time here, friends. I do not want another c-section, I really don't. It is not as if I have anything against them I just really wanted this shot at having a conventional labor and delivery. I have this vision in my mind of her being born and getting her plopped on my chest all pink and screaming, Leif by my side as amazed as I am. You know, the exact opposite of our experience with George. The closer we get to August 16th the less likely it seems like that is going to happen for us. Aside from some erratic contractions each morning that seem to fade away after an hour or so, I don't feel as if we've made any progress. She is still sitting super high, just under my ribs, and I am wondering if she will ever drop. Until she does it seems unlikely that I can dilate that much without the pressure of her head to move the process along. No dilation means no induction.
Of course, then there is the added pressure of knowing that if I have another c-section it pretty much locks me into one for the next pregnancy, should there be one. That really sucks too.
The thing is that it isn't as if I have to get a c-section at this point. It would not be an issue for me at all if I had to have one but right now I don't. I don't have a breech baby. She isn't in any apparent distress. I'm a good candidate for a successful VBAC and my doctor feels comfortable waiting to see how things go on their own as long as I start getting non-stress tests twice a week. But I am terrified of waiting. So, so scared that something bad will happen. Being part of a community of people who have had their babies die you begin to see all the ways in which tragedy occurs.
I keep thinking, what if I decide to wait for things to go on their own and there is a cord accident? What then? Or what if something happens during delivery? These things happen, sadly. Most of us know this from personal experience.
So I guess I'm looking for your opinions. If you have lost a baby late in pregnancy and were term with a subsequent pregnancy, how long would you wait after forty weeks before inducing (if that was possible) or doing a c-section? A week? Two weeks? Would you even wait until forty weeks or try to get the baby out earlier?
We just want her to get here alive and healthy and maybe I am tempting fate by putting too much emphasis on the method in which that happens. I wish I had some sort of guarantee about how this is all going to turn out...
Of course, then there is the added pressure of knowing that if I have another c-section it pretty much locks me into one for the next pregnancy, should there be one. That really sucks too.
The thing is that it isn't as if I have to get a c-section at this point. It would not be an issue for me at all if I had to have one but right now I don't. I don't have a breech baby. She isn't in any apparent distress. I'm a good candidate for a successful VBAC and my doctor feels comfortable waiting to see how things go on their own as long as I start getting non-stress tests twice a week. But I am terrified of waiting. So, so scared that something bad will happen. Being part of a community of people who have had their babies die you begin to see all the ways in which tragedy occurs.
I keep thinking, what if I decide to wait for things to go on their own and there is a cord accident? What then? Or what if something happens during delivery? These things happen, sadly. Most of us know this from personal experience.
So I guess I'm looking for your opinions. If you have lost a baby late in pregnancy and were term with a subsequent pregnancy, how long would you wait after forty weeks before inducing (if that was possible) or doing a c-section? A week? Two weeks? Would you even wait until forty weeks or try to get the baby out earlier?
We just want her to get here alive and healthy and maybe I am tempting fate by putting too much emphasis on the method in which that happens. I wish I had some sort of guarantee about how this is all going to turn out...
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