Oh. God. I am soooo tired.
Despite having spent the entire day indoors, I am no better for the “rest.” I need to get out and run, dance, skip to my loo my darling. Sadly, I have no idea how I’m going to manage any of those things when I’m still in my pajamas at 5:45pm on a Thursday. I know, I know…patience. But this newborn stage is exhausting. He doesn’t like to be swaddled, wrapped, worn, pacified (with a pacifier) or any other form of “emulating the womb” that most babies like. Nope, my child likes to eat and then sleep in my bed curled up next to me. It’s a phase right? It’s gotta be a phase.
Thankfully, I have just finished my first installment of the salacious Fifty Shades of Grey and it was everything I hoped it to be. In fact, I can’t wait to get my hands on book 2 and 3 to see how this torrid romance ends up. Nothing like distracting oneself from nursing a baby 24/7 like a little BDSM. See? I’m even dropping the lingo. Although I must say, it feels wrong to be feeding a baby and reading erotica at the same time. Oh well. If you don’t tell, I won’t.
And speaking of lingo, there’s a new phrase out there – throwing shade – as in making disparaging remarks, showing disrespect, and giving insult. If I “throw shade” at you, it means I speak ill of you. I’ve looked it up online and can’t find a reliable source as to where it comes from, but I like it. Seems that while I’ve been cocooned in my bubble, new terminology is popping up left and right.
That’s all for now except that our household now has 5 strollers for 2 children. 5 strollers. 2 carseats. 1 highchair. And 0 Hermes bags. When did this happen to me?
You know when you have your leg cut off? And it hurts like crazy? And you think you’ll never walk again? But then you get your fake leg? And at first it kills too? But somehow you get used to it? And then eventually walking around with your fake leg becomes so ‘normal’ that it’s like you never had a real leg to begin with? Yeah well, that’s what it’s like over here.
Baby #2 (weighing in at a whopping 10lbs 5oz) was like a hurricane that blew into our lives wreaking havoc and destruction and a sense of, ‘Oh crap, what have we gotten ourselves into?” But as days and nights roll over us and then into one another, and time passes, and his sweet little personality emerges, I’m kind of digging it. Granted, I’ve got my mom here so when she leaves I’m up a tree with no paddle…
But I definitely heard a pop just the other day. A sign that life is starting to regain a new sense of normalcy. Not that it will last or that the hurricane of chaos has gone far, but so far, so good. I think. I hope. Oh man, tell me this is not just sleep deprivation.
Well, as my best friend told me this morning, you can’t worry about the things you have no control over. Natural disasters, random acts of violence, not having your baby on time…these are the things you just gotta let go of.
So in an attempt to embrace my destiny, to figure that everything is working out the way it’s supposed to, I have made my husband promise me a few simple things:
- if I have to get a C-section, he must order up a tummy tuck for the same time
- and no recuperating at the hospital – I want to be either home, at the Plaza or in France
- for every stitch and every tear, my dear darling husband must beat himself in the head with a rutabaga
- I have the right to be grumpy, demanding, and capricious from now until the day after Mother’s Day
- and speaking of Mother’s Day…nobody ever said no to jewelry <hint hint>
I think these requests are fair. I’m the one who’s having a 9-10 pound baby tomorrow. Oh I didn’t mention that? Yes, my midwife estimated Rocko’s size as between 9.5 and 10lbs as of this past Monday. Not that she couldn’t be totally off, but if she’s right…bring out that rutabaga.
My first child was induced. I had been in labor for 80 hours (true) when the powers-that-be pulled the plug on my natural childbirth efforts. Seven hours later I had a beautiful baby kangaroo. (may or may not be true)
To get ready for baby #1 I had employed a Bradley Method coach who came to the house for many weeks to teach us about natural childbirth. When the 40 week mark came and went, I began drinking raspberry tea by the gallon, walking non-stop, eating “THE Salad,” doing all the sexy-stuff you’re supposed to do, sweeping the membranes, and going in for daily acupuncture. This is what I can recall mind you. My husband remembers something about a monkey, a carton of eggs, and a midnight hike up Santa Monica canyon with our midwife.
When baby #2 popped onto the horizon, my midwife assured me that the chances of me being induced again were slim to none. In fact, everyone told me that this little bundle of joy was going to slip right out like a Jamaican bobsledder. Hah! Here I am, rocking like a hurricane once again. My induction date has been scheduled and despite my hours of walking and yadda-yadda-yadda, there are no signs that baby is coming. I’ve searched the internet for hours (like 100 at least) going over all of my “alternative” options to be sure no stone is left unturned. Medical induction for the second time was really not in my playbook.
Meanwhile, I’m reading The Happiness Project by Gretchin Rubin. She says that happiness comes in 4 stages:
- savoring an experience
- expressing happiness (over said experience)
- and then recalling the happy memories about your experience
And so I tell myself to embrace the anticipation…embrace it, Sara. Embrace it. EMBRACE IT, DAMMIT!
Nope. Didn’t work.